


Touching the Sun

by gwenweybourne



Series: Sunburn [2]
Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Consent is Sexy, Dolenzsmith, Dolenztorksmith, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, RPS - Freeform, Sequel, Threesome - M/M/M, brief dub-con moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: Micky and Mike reel in the aftermath of their one night together. It nearly takes them apart, but the Monkees 1967 tour allows them to build a fantasy world together. One that real life will eventually destroy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently this story wasn't over quite yet. It's a WIP at the moment, but I plan to update regularly and already have a large portion of it done. Thanks to all who read the first one :)

In the end, Micky was right. They didn’t speak about that night again. Mike’s small physical and verbal acknowledgement in the car that everything was supposedly still fine between the two friends after their drug-induced night in bed together was supposed to be enough. Micky wasn’t surprised, but he was finding the aftermath more difficult to deal with than he had expected.

It had made sense that he’d spent time dwelling on that night during the first couple of days afterward. Particularly when he was still recovering his equilibrium after the deep low that followed the incredible high. But he couldn’t seem to shake it. No doubt seeing Mike every single day as the tour dragged on wasn’t helping matters. They didn’t avoid each other, and things weren’t uncomfortable or awkward, but Micky simply had a new awareness where Mike was concerned. A knowledge he couldn’t unknow. He knew things like how Mike really enjoyed kissing when he was making love and he was particularly skilled at both kissing and making love.

The way his voice sounded when he was feeling nervous and shy — something he very rarely, if ever, showed to the people he worked with. How soft his lips were and the way he had trembled and moaned when he let Micky touch him intimately for the first time. What he sounded and looked like when he came. The way he’d stared at Micky in an awed kind of wonder afterward. And the surprising tenderness that came with that. Micky remembered being held very gently and Mike urging him to drink water — almost fearful of leaving him alone as the high wore off and he knew he had to get back to his room before anyone noticed they’d spent the night together.

Micky had at first savored the memories with a similar kind of wonder, but as the days turned into weeks, they became a kind of torment. When some nights he nearly talked himself into going to Mike’s room. But the fear of rejection stopped him every time. Fear that Mike would be disgusted by Micky’s continued desire and sexual curiosity when he wasn’t hopped up on some psychotropic aphrodisiac. And he had to accept that it was indeed just a one-off. He’d talked Mike into dropping some mystery drugs that he’d scored off some foxy fans. That was dumb enough — it could have been anything, but Micky still very much believed that while a mob of fans was dangerous, fans at an individual level all wished them well and wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. The alternative was too disturbing to contemplate. And so he’d merrily brought Mike along on a trip that turned into something else entirely.

But Mike seemed fine. But then again, Mike always seemed fine. Until he wasn’t. But he hadn’t had any notable blow-ups lately and he still smiled and joked around with Micky and touched him casually, and proudly showed off pictures of his young son that Phyllis sent ahead to the hotels on their itinerary. So Micky decided that he needed to follow Mike’s example and just put that night away in a box. Stow the box away somewhere safe and hidden. And get back to how it was before. He started looking at girls again and they had never stopped looking at him. He only had to reach out his hand and there was a pretty young thing waiting to take it. It was a distraction and a welcome one at that.

* * *

Micky didn’t try to talk to him about it. About that night. At first Mike felt relieved. He’d felt like warmed-over dogshit the morning after and hadn’t intended on saying a word about it, but when Micky had all but tumbled into the car, looking anxious and upset and definitely high on cocaine — which Mike could guess came from Broadway Davy “the show must go on, lads” Jones —, Mike knew he had to do something to soothe him.

After all, it was okay, right? They were okay. He wanted Micky to be okay. He was struggling with his own personal guilt over what had happened, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care any less for Micky than he did before. In fact … he was struggling to admit to himself that it had made him care even more for the younger man. Micky — so kind and open and eager to please — was the glue that seemed to hold the Monkees together even when the entire tenuous operation seemed on the verge of flying apart due to their disparate personalities and artistic leanings, and the unrelenting pressure of being a recording act, a live act, and a TV cast all at once. On top of that, maintaining the public image of being the silly, funny best friends whom everyone saw on that TV show. Innocuous and harmless. The Rolling Stones flirted with the devil. The Beatles flirted with experimental psychedelia. Anything the Monkees flirted with was about as threatening as the breakfast cereal company that sponsored their TV program.

But in real life, Mike had taken drugs and found himself in a night-long homosexual clinch with the man he considered to be his best friend in their small, contained world. He was a married man and a father and had been raised to respect and fear God and his various punishments for deviant behavior. And there were so many things to be punished for.

But everything was changing all around them. Sometimes it felt like the world was improving and sometimes it felt like everything was on the verge of ending. But Mike reckoned that was what change was supposed to feel like. Terrifying. It only looked romantic in hindsight. He hoped he lived long enough to a) ensure his son and any other children he had would have a future and b) look back on any of this insanity with some small sense of sentiment.

And now he was feeling something changing inside of him because of that night with Micky and that, very selfishly, terrified him beyond anything else. It threatened everything he’d established to make a spot for himself in this world. He was doing the Monkees so he could provide for his young family and then hopefully to plant seeds for a musical career of his own when this particular trip finally ended. He didn’t know when it exactly would end, but he couldn’t see himself performing to screaming teenyboppers and playing a goof on TV when he was over the age of thirty. The idea was ludicrous.

But the fact remained, in the here and now, that Mike couldn’t shake off that night. No matter how hard he tried. He had been determined to not let anything outwardly change between him and Micky. And Micky responded positively when Mike continued to riff with him, and they talked music and told jokes and things were normal. Mostly. Sometimes he thought he caught Micky looking at him in the way he often caught himself looking at the drummer when he thought Mick wasn’t looking. Remembering. Wondering. But that was all in his head, right? Micky was a free spirit and a bachelor — he had all the freedom to “let his freak flag fly,” as he so often liked to quote their erstwhile touring partner, Jimi Hendrix. Micky let everything slide off him and he seemed to be getting on fine.

Mike was performing the same act, but it was just that — an act. On the surface. Underneath, his emotions were becoming increasingly chaotic and unmanageable. Particularly when he noticed Micky going off with women. Mike wasn’t sure if Micky had laid off doing that for a while since they’d messed around, or if he just hadn’t noticed. But now it was all he noticed. Women loved Micky. Hell, everyone loved Micky. It wasn’t like Mike wanted Micky all to himself … just that he was having a hard time accepting a reality in which everyone could potentially have a piece of Micky _except_ for him. It was becoming impossible. Not after he’d felt like he’d touched the sun when Micky kissed him. Micky always reminded Mike of sunshine, but that first kiss had warmed him throughout and dazzled him blind.

And now it burned. He’d been high on drugs, but the experience of holding Micky and touching him, and giving him exactly what he wanted and needed until he shook apart in Mike’s arms — that was something else. Something real. The feeling of threading his fingers through Micky’s wild hair while Micky sucked him off — again, so eager to please — and, finally, just cradling Micky, only partially conscious after his last orgasm, in his arms and trying to get more water into him. Scared that maybe if he left him alone that he might not wake up. Because he had no idea what they had taken and what the after-effects would be. What the hell did they know about anything? His spiking fear had resulted in an adrenaline rush that had kept him more lucid and worried about Micky’s lethargic state. He hadn’t even had the sense to worry about himself. But Mike never really did. He was twenty-four years old and strong and ornery and thought himself invincible. But younger Micky somehow wasn’t. Mike needed to protect him. From what, exactly? Himself? Peter Tork desperately needed protecting from himself, but Mike didn’t have that kind of relationship with him. He could only manage this, and just barely.

When Mike had curled up in that car under his dark glasses, a tiny part of him was waiting, sick with dread, for Ward to burst in and tell him that something terrible had happened. That Micky was sick … or dead. And it would be Mike’s fault. Didn’t matter that Micky was the one who gave them the drugs — Mike should have stayed with him, even if it meant being discovered in bed together the next morning. Nothing was worth a life. Nothing at all. Especially not Micky’s.

But he’d taken the coward route out. So when Micky had tumbled miserably in the car, Mike had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around him in relief. And again, he’d given in to cowardice and just thrown a casual arm around Micky and murmured a coded reassurance to him. Nearly limp with relief when Micky relaxed at his touch and rested his head on Mike’s shoulder. And that had been that.

And now here he was, prowling the labyrinthine corridors of the venue after the show. They were nearly empty now as the after-party location had been established and those in the know were either gathering there, or finishing their pre-partying in the main backstage room, and the rest of the rabble had been hustled out by security. But Mike hadn’t caught a glimpse of Micky in a long time and now he moved back toward the dressing room areas, needing to find him. The security guards let him pass freely through and he was about to turn the corner into one of the dressing rooms assigned to them when he heard a long groan.

He knew what that sound was. That was Micky getting off.

He froze in place, unsure of what to do. He took half a step and saw Micky in partial profile, head thrown back and relaxed in a chair, his back to the door, shirt hanging open, pants open, and his cock buried in the mouth of Katy, a knockout blonde who was a known frequenter of major shows in this particular part of the country; who traveled with other friends who were into the same thing. A groupie, but Mike tended to dislike that word. A lot of the women who got tagged as “groupies” contributed a lot more to the scene than just sexual favors. Katy included. But they also got off on fucking musicians and why not? Why shouldn’t unmarried chicks enjoy themselves the way men did? Again, it went against Mike’s upbringing, but it didn’t seem fair that women should get negatively labeled for digging sex the same way men did if that’s what they were into. What was the hang-up if they wanted to have fun? Okay, yeah, so “unmarried” was an important factor, but again … that’s just the way things were. Mike didn’t make the rules.

But right now he hated Katy. Even though she’d put her hands on him before and he’d let her. She’d also mended buttons on his shirt and rubbed his shoulders and talked to him and made him feel human for a night instead of a … what. A golden idol? A trapped rat. An ungrateful asshole for having all this so-called good fortune and hating the trappings that went with it. And this horrible feeling of hatred scorched him to the bone.

And so Mike found himself frozen in place while Katy sucked Micky off and flushed with fury and humiliation when Micky came and he could see Katy stand up, her pretty, perky breasts poking out of her open blouse, and she leaned over Micky teasingly. “I think you got something of mine?”

Micky, who had been chewing gum, stuck his tongue out dramatically and waggled it. Katy giggled and gave Micky a big, open-mouthed kiss that lasted for nearly a minute, and when they came up for air, Katy was chewing the gum. She gently flicked a finger over Micky’s nose. “Thanks, honey. I’m off to the party now.”

“M’kay, sweetheart. I’ll be there in a while. Good to see you, Katy-girl.”

“Peace and love, baby.”

And then Katy strolled out of the dressing room, buttoning up her blouse, looking very pleased with herself. She caught Mike’s eye and gave him a smile and a wink. “Hey, Mike,” she said, drawing a slender finger across his chest as she passed. “Lookin’ good, papa. Come find me at the party, okay?”

Mike managed a non-committal sound and watched her ass move under her tiny skirt as she strutted away, well aware that he’d be watching her. And realizing she’d maybe seen him watching them. The attention she’d just paid him would normally turn him on like crazy. The girl was a stone fox and sweet-natured to boot — why shouldn’t Micky enjoy her attention? But all it did was infuriate him more. Which just added to the sick, confused feeling he’d been wrestling with for weeks now. And now it was boiling over and there was nowhere left to bury it inside him.

Mike stepped into the dressing room to find Micky, who had zipped up and was standing, fixing his hair in the mirror. He caught sight of Mike in the reflection. “Oh, hey, Nez. What’s shakin’? You heading to the party?” His cheeks were flushed with a post-orgasmic glow that Mike recognized all too well now, and he gritted his teeth as he kicked the door shut behind him with a bang and flipped the lock. Micky frowned and turned around. “Mike?”

“I didn’t like that,” Mike said, pointing a finger at Micky and beginning to slowly pace the narrow confines of the room. “I didn’t like that. And you know what I didn’t like even more? The _fact_ that I didn’t like that!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Micky’s brow furrowed and he stared at Mike in utter confusion.

“I saw you! With Katy!”

“Yeah … so?”

“I said _I didn’t like it_ , Mick!”

“What do you care? You got a thing for her? She’s into it, man! She’s into all of us. Katy is a sweet girl. Didn’t you two —”

“Oh, you know why,” Mike interrupted, pacing faster, arms akimbo.

Micky laughed humorlessly. “Really, man? After all these weeks? Okay. I don’t know what the hell you want me to say! It’s not like _you_ wanna suck my cock. Remember? Mr. I’m-Married-and-I’m-Not-a-Fag? It was just one night. It was those wild drugs. That’s all … right?”

Mike shook his head. “I’m not so sure, man. I’m not so sure at all anymore.” And then he turned sharply and grabbed Micky, two hands roughly clutching each side of his open shirt, and marching him swiftly backwards until he slammed up against the door. He could see Katy’s lipstick marks trailing down Micky’s chest and it fired him up even more. “Ow!” Micky cried out when his head knocked painfully against the door, and, too shocked to speak, stared wide-eyed at Mike, who roughly yanked down Micky’s shirt to bare his neck and shoulders and effectively restrict his arms before crushing their mouths together in a hard kiss. Micky moaned in spite of himself, opening his mouth when Mike tongued him, grinding up against Micky.

It carried on for several moments as they kissed frantically. Mike, tasting Katy’s lipstick on his mouth and determined to remove every trace of it; Micky, clutching at Mike but unable with his arms constricted at the elbows where Mike held the fistfuls of fabric. But when Mike freed one of his hands to open his belt buckle, Micky growled and shoved him away so hard that Mike almost tumbled over the chair where he’d just watched Micky get a blow job.

“Mike! What the hell is wrong with you?” Micky exclaimed, furious.

Mike froze for a moment. Then yelled, “I dunno, Mick!” He was flustered and embarrassed at being rebuffed, angry for reasons his frantic mind couldn’t process, and he regained his footing and threw his arms in the air in frustration at his lack of control. “But I think it’s safe to say that we can’t blame this … thing … on the drugs anymore.”

“Thing … what _thing_?” Micky asked angrily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Us!”

“There is no _us_ , Nez,” Micky said quietly, shrugging his shirt back into place and taking a step forward, rubbing the back of his head. “You made that pretty clear. And I get it, man. You have responsibilities. We all have a lot to lose, but you have the most. But I can’t have you on a jealousy trip every time I meet up with a girl. Or maybe another guy, who knows.”

Mike whirled on him mid-pace. “What the _fuck_ did you just say? Another guy?”

Micky shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe? I liked it … with you. I liked it a lot. So, yeah, maybe it might be a thing I’ll do again — given the right circumstances. That’s a whole other trip. It’s … risky. But I'm pretty sure Pete swings both ways, too. He makes it happen. He makes _anything_ happen, for god’s sake.”

Mike stopped dead and pressed his lips together, eyes flashing furiously as his hands balled into fists. One flashed out and he punched the chair, knocking it over with a clatter.

Micky was unfazed. “Oh, _right_. What are you gonna do now, huh? Pull a Donnie Kirshner on me? Or do you wanna hit me for real?” He stepped closer, invading Mike’s space. “Do it. I dare you. Mess up my pretty face so no one wants to fuck me or take my picture. Let PR spin a reason for my busted nose and teeth. Maybe a motorcycle accident. That’s a pretty hip story. All because you can’t stand sharing your toys. You step out on Phyllis all the damn time, but what if she did that to you, huh? Even just once?”

“Don’t you _dare_ bring my wife into this!” Mike growled, fists still clenched. “She would never …!”

“Because she’s a _saint_ and I honestly feel a little sick that I’ve become part of that, Nez. If we’re being honest. You need to figure out what you want. If you need to have it both ways, then you gotta get over your hang-up about other people doing the same. But I’m not your wife. I am your friend and your bandmate and I love you, man. But I told you I don’t get pushed around and I meant it. Back off. Now.”

Micky had extended to his full height and then some. His expression was more serious than Mike had ever seen before. Mike exhaled a long breath and forced himself to unclench his fists and take a step back, effectively backing down as Micky requested.

“All right, man. All right.”

Micky shook his head, bemused. “You don’t think I thought about that night … for days after? For weeks? Jerked off thinking about it? Felt sick about it? Hated it? Loved it? Had to stop myself from going to your room in the middle of the night because I thought you’d call me a fag for wanting to fool around even when I’m not high? Seen you looking at me? This whole time I’ve felt like you’re stuck between wanting to screw me and wanting to beat me senseless because you want to screw me and you hate me for it. I’ve met guys like you … who would rather see me dead than admit they feel attracted to me. Even if I haven’t done anything except _exist_. You think Davy hasn’t had that happen to him? The way he looks? He’s a tough little shit because he has to be. To survive. Peter? God, I worry about Peter. Gonna get himself in over his head one of these days because what he thinks the world is about and what it’s _actually_ about are two drastically different things and the world is full of assholes who prey on people like him. But I don’t go looking for trouble. You’re the first guy I ever messed around with. I told you that.”

Mike shrugged and looked at his feet, ashamed. “No, man. I didn’t think about that. About any of that. I didn’t think you’d really thought all that much about it. I thought it was just me having a hang-up about it. And I’m not one of ‘those guys,’ Mick! I wouldn’t … I …” He growled, unable to express himself and sick with the realization that he’d hurt Micky. Physically hurt him. Maybe even scared him a little.

“Well, then maybe you don’t know me all that well after all,” said Micky. “It was my goddamn idea in the first place, don’t forget. The high made it all more intense, but …” he paused and said, more quietly, “good sex is good sex, man.”

Mike blinked. He’d thought it in his head, but it was another thing to hear Micky say it aloud. That they’d had sex together … and it had been good. Really good.

Micky shrugged and rubbed half-heartedly at the lipstick marks on his chest before buttoning his shirt up. “But if you think you own me now just because you got me off a few times, you got another think coming.” He looked gravely at Mike, then back in the mirror to fix his hair again. “I’m going to the party now. And I’m going to get laid.”

“Fuck the party,” Mike said. “Come back to my room.”

Micky unlocked the door and grasped the handle. He gave Mike a sunny smile. “Fuck you,” he said cheerfully, opening the door and walking out, slamming it behind him and leaving Mike standing alone, speechless.

He kicked the chair so hard it broke into three pieces and bruised his shin.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next five days, Mike would learn just how talented of an actor Micky Dolenz truly was.

When they were on as the Monkees, either doing press or playing a show, Micky would joke and smile and riff with Mike. They did their usual stage schtick, like the James Brown bit, but the moment the concert ended or the camera was turned off, it was like Mike ceased to exist. He actually watched the light in Micky’s eyes dim as he turned himself off where Mike was concerned. Instead, Micky focused his energy on Peter and Davy, making sure to have them flanking him when they were squeezed into a car or posing for photographs. The other two Monkees, of course, eagerly drank up Micky’s attention — he just had that effect on people. He could make anyone feel like the most important person in the world when he looked at them and smiled. It was like being bathed in warm sunshine.

On the first day, Mike was confused. He caught Micky’s elbow as he passed by and Micky snatched his arm away as if Mike had lit it on fire. “Don’t, man.”

“C’mon, Micky. If you’re trying to teach me a lesson, well, mission accomplished, okay?”

Micky looked at him, frowning. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Well, yeah, man.”

Micky chuckled humorlessly. “ _Okay_ ,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh, c’mon, Mick. What do you want from me? Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it.”

“Don’t do that,” Micky said, making a face. “I’m not a chick and I’m certainly not your chick. And we’re done here.”

Again, Mike was left staring after as Micky walked out on him.

On the second day, Mike was mad, and he maybe pushed Micky around on stage a little bit when he didn’t have to. What the fuck was his problem? He couldn’t just pretend Mike didn’t exist and ignore him forever. It was crazy. It wasn’t fair. What had he done that was so bad, anyway?

On the third day, Mike sulked. Micky threw a party in his room and emerged the next morning with three girls following him out.

On the fourth day, Mike felt sad. He took his sad and ran it through his guitar and wrote four new songs. And then he did some thinking. He did a lot of thinking.

On the fifth day he decided to do something about it. He got Micky’s room number off Ward and walked down the hall. He paused and listened outside Micky’s room for a few moments. He could hear voices from the TV, but no one else. No female giggles or moans. He knocked three times. There was a long pause and he was pretty sure Micky was trying to decide whether or not to open up. But he did, though he only opened the door a quarter of the way, blocking entry into the room with his body. He was shirtless, and a worn pair of cotton pajama bottoms hung dangerously low off his slender hips.

“May I help you, sir?” Micky asked obsequiously.

“You alone?”

“Yeah. This busy whore likes to take a night off every so often.”

“Aw, c’mon, Mick. Lemme in.”

Micky leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest. “Depends. Are you planning to throw me up against another wall?”

“’Course not. C’mon, man.”

“Fine.” Micky stepped back and opened the door to allow Mike inside.

Mike stepped into the room and looked around, suddenly unsure of what to do or say or where to even stand.

“Sit down or something, you’re making me nervous,” said Micky, sounding anything but nervous as he reached over to switch off the television before picking up an open bottle of beer sitting on top of the chest of drawers. He angled his chin at the ice bucket that held two more chilled bottles. “Want one? And, for the record, it’s my first. Split a six-pack with Davy. No dope, no chicks. We’re all taking it easy tonight. But I figured you knew that.”

“Naw, man, I’m all right. Thanks.” Mike ignored the jibe and tried to sit down in a nearby chair, but he couldn’t stay still for even a moment and was up pacing nervously again.

Micky leaned calmly against the drawers, watching him. “It’s actually killing you, isn’t it? Trying to say it. You can’t say it.”

“Trying to say what?”

Micky laughed and took a swig of beer. “That you’re sorry. Have you ever said it before?”

“Aw, that’s dumb, Mick. What do I got to be sorry about, huh?”

Micky made a face. “Well, hmm, maybe for starters, pulling a jealous husband trip on me, a person who is _thankfully_ not your wife, then throwing me up against a door and forcing yourself on me? What were you going to do if I didn’t push you off … jack off on me? Make me give you head? Good thing you didn’t — I would have used teeth. All of them.”

Mike recoiled, horrified. “Naw, man. Naw — you kissed me back! It was just kinda … heated. I wasn’t gonna … I would never … Micky!”

“I did kiss you back,” Micky conceded. “You caught me off guard. And you are a really good kisser even when you’re being a caveman. But don’t ever do that again. Not unless I ask you to. I don’t really go for that rough stuff. You should hardly be surprised. I’m not exactly a tough guy.”

“Tough enough,” Mike murmured, studying his shoes. “Put me in my place, anyway.”

“Well, I know how to handle the likes of you.”

“I’m just … not loose like you, Mick. I’m all wound up all the damn time.”

Micky snorted. “Oh, I’m ‘loose,’ now, huh?”

“You know what I mean. You go with the flow. And I’m …”

“A salmon swimming upstream.”

“Pretty much.”

“A very angry salmon.”

“I ain’t always that angry, am I?”

“Ask the chair.”

“I did. Poor fella went to pieces.”

Micky laughed, but stopped abruptly, shaking his head. “No … no! I’m still mad at you! You can’t just riff with me and make it all cool. Not this time. Why are you here? What do you _want_ , Mike?”

“… I want you to stop bein’ mad at me, Micky. It’s a real drag.”

“Oh, boo-hoo.”

“Naw, you don’t understand. You don’t … get mad at people. Not really. Not like I do. You like everyone and everyone likes you. You’re Micky Dolenz, man! So you bein’ mad at me … makes me feel …”

“Uh-huh,” said Micky, making a waving _more_ motion with his hand. “C’mon, Texas. Tell California about your _feelings_. I know it’s hard.”

“It makes me feel like crap, man!” Mike snapped, glaring at Micky.

Micky shrugged. “That’s really not my problem. You’re still not saying what you really want to say. If you don’t have anything else, maybe you just need to leave and go think about it some more.”

“Oh, shut up, Dr. Freud. Parody that guy once on the show and you think you can get into everyone’s head.”

Micky took another sip of beer and laughed. “Naw, man. It’s just you. And you’re so damn easy to read. At least to me. Come on. Tell me what you really want. Tell me and I’ll probably stop being mad at you.”

Mike finally took a seat on the end of the bed and braced his hands on his knees, taking a deep breath. “All right, all right. Fine. I’m sorry, okay? I was a jackass. I just … saw that girl with your dick in her mouth and she was gettin’ you off and I saw red. It’s stupid, I know.”

“Yeah, pretty stupid. Except maybe not.”

“Huh?”

Micky sighed. “Tell me the rest of it. There’s more, right?”

Mike set his jaw and glared at Micky, who raised his eyebrows, nonchalant. It drove him crazy that he couldn’t intimidate Micky. Not even a little bit. Micky saw through it all. And he had the gall to just stand here … practically naked except for those flimsy pants, drinking beer and acting superior. But he had every right to. And so much of the reason why Mike liked Micky was because he didn’t go in for Mike’s shit. He saw beyond it. It … made Mike feel safe in a way he wasn’t used to. His usual method was to be prickly and keep people at a superficial distance. But Micky had slid in under his defences and … done absolutely nothing to hurt him. Just been a good friend. His best friend since he’d signed up for this crazy job that had become his crazy life. Peter was a full-on hippie freak and Davy was a traditional song-and-dance-man who wore Nehru jackets and beads because it was trendy, but in reality he was more Dean Martin than Bob Dylan. Mike liked his other bandmates and truly loved certain aspects of their personalities. He loved the way they gelled when they performed and acted together, for the most part, but often felt at a personal remove from them. But Micky was different.

There were some days when Mike felt ready to walk away from the Monkees altogether, contract or not, but losing Micky wasn’t part of the deal. And he had no leverage here. Not a bit. He’d treated Micky poorly and Micky knew it, and had backed him into a corner. He felt a grudging respect that added onto the other feelings he held for his friend. Feelings that were becoming increasingly confusing because in essence he had come here to convince Mick to … to go to bed with him again. Because they’d crossed a damn line that night and there maybe wasn’t any going back.

“I don’t … want you to be with any other guys. At all,” he finally said.

Micky nodded. “That’s the second really honest thing you’ve said tonight. I still can’t believe you finally apologized. Wish I’d caught that on tape. What about girls?”

Mike blinked, expecting push-back on that element, but Micky wasn’t getting sore about his statement. “Girls … well… it ain’t fair of me to expect that of you and I know that. I mean, I’m in the same weird spot as Lennon … we got hitched before we got famous, so that’s our own bag we deal with. We love our wives, but it’s fuckin’ hard to be on the road and just go to bed alone every night. I get so damn lonely and crazy cooped up in these hotel rooms. Can’t go anywhere. Can’t do nothin’. All my friends are makin’ it with beautiful girls every other damn night, and there’s so much temptation. But even then, sometimes, screwing strange women makes me feel worse after. But I don’t … ‘own you,’ like you said. You been with lots of girls before we met, and you will be after … whenever this crazy rollercoaster ride ends. You’ll probably get married at some point …”

Micky made a noise. “Uh, hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here …”

Mike shrugged. “It’s what happens. To all of us, eventually. Guys who only get with guys … they can’t have a regular life. Even if they want to. It just don’t work that way. At least not right now. That stuff will get you killed real fast in Texas. And no one blinks an eye. That’s … what I grew up around. That’s what I learned … what I _saw_ … you dig? And there’s a part of me that’s scared sick about what we did and about doing it again.”

“So … you’re saying that you want do it again? Get with me?”

Mike chewed his lower lip and stared at the floor for a moment before nodding. “I know this is crazy, Mick. I dunno what we’re doin’, but maybe I’m getting sick of thinking about what’s right and wrong and what I’m supposed to think about things just because I was _told_ it was the way to think. You’re my good friend and I know it ain’t right, really, and maybe it ain’t fair to ask you to not mess around with any other guys, but —”

“I don’t really want to get with any other guys,” Micky interrupted quietly.

Mike looked up at him. “Huh? Say what now?”

Micky shrugged, looking down and scratching at the beer bottle label with his blunt thumbnail. “I just said that because I was mad. I wanted to make you feel bad.”

Mike shrugged, but a shy smile bloomed over his face. “Guess I deserved that.” He stood up and walked up to Micky, standing right in front of him. Their eyes met and they smiled softly at each other. Mike reached out and cradled Micky’s hips in his hands, thumbs slowly tracing the shape of his hipbones.

Micky bit his lip, put down the beer bottle, then reached up and touched Mike’s face very gently, cupping his chin in the palm of his hand.

“I get lonely, too. It’s why I asked you to trip with me. We’re trapped in these rooms and this life, but we can be free in our minds and in our hearts. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I didn’t want to go alone.”

Mike looked solemnly at Micky, nearly undone by his friend’s honesty. All he could manage to say was, “I’m glad I went with you, Mick.”

Then Micky leaned forward and kissed him. Mike made a soft, happy sound and kissed him back. The kiss deepened quickly, but they kept the pace slow. Mike pressed Micky gently back against the dresser and went back again and again and again for deep, open-mouthed kisses that were driving all the blood away from his brain, and Micky was just as hungry and needy.

Again, Mike was frightened by the idea that he was into Micky … just because. But he knew he’d been on the verge of losing Micky from his life for good and that thought scared him more. Especially right now when Micky was so soft and warm and nearly naked and moaning softly into the kisses. He sounded and tasted so nice that Mike kissed him a while longer. But then he finally broke the kiss and nuzzled into Micky’s neck, smelling his scent and licking and kissing and teasing with his teeth. Micky let out a long, gasping moan, canting his head back to expose his throat. The moan turned into a hungry whimper as Mike slid his palm down Micky's naked torso and reached between his legs, satisfied to find him fully aroused. He cupped Micky's hard length in his palm and began to rub him slowly through the thin fabric of his pants, teasing his balls, still kissing and teasing his neck. Micky let out a shaky cry, putting his hands behind him on the dresser to brace his weight as his knees threatened to give out. Mike continued to kiss and suck and stroke Micky until he felt the front of Micky’s pants become damp with precome and finally the other man’s panting moans turned into pleading.

“Mike, I need … please …” he babbled.

Mike cradled the back of Micky’s neck in one hand, feeling the warmth and perspiration raised on his skin. He reached out with his other hand and gently tugged one of the drawstrings on Micky’s pajama bottoms. The knot came apart and the pants fell right off, pooling at Micky’s feet. He gently pressed his forehead to Micky’s and they gazed at each other, panting, eyes dilated, but not because of drugs this time.

And then Mike slowly lowered himself onto his knees. Micky opened his mouth, but no words came out. Mike wrapped his hand around Micky's cock and looked up at him, eyes asking a silent question. Micky stared at him for a moment, then nodded, dumbstruck.

And then Micky watched as Mike took him into his mouth, engulfing him in warm, wet heat and he gasped, clutching at the dresser when his knees went weak again. Beyond the sheer sensation, the mere sight of Mike’s lips wrapped around his cock was blowing Micky’s mind. He reached down, hesitantly, to stroke Mike’s thick, dark hair, watching him, awed. He was beautiful.

* * *

It was weird. Definitely weird, but Micky’s reaction made it all worth it and then some. The fact that Micky was completely naked, and Mike was still fully clothed helped him feel a little bit less vulnerable in this position. He heard his name, gasped softly and reverently, and then Micky’s hand stroking his hair. He took his time getting used to the sensation, then started thinking about the stuff he liked when he was getting head and using his tongue along with his lips and speeding up a little bit. He slid his hands up Micky’s thighs and held his hips. Micky trembled, making little groaning cries that were going right to Mike’s dick. He was doing this. He could make Micky feel this way. He groaned around Micky’s cock and rubbed his growing bulge. He thought he was going to lose Micky for good. Not just as … whatever this was, but as his friend, which was unthinkable. And now … well, they had no idea what they were doing now, but at least they were doing it together.

He’d found a kind of rhythm now and Micky was leaking into his mouth, panting and moaning and then he was gasping Mike’s name, warning him he was close. Mike pulled off, but quickly stood and pulled Micky close with one arm, his other hand going down to fist Micky’s cock, slick with his saliva, and bring him off. He stroked him hard and fast and then Micky let out a broken cry and buried his face in Mike’s neck, groaning as he came, shuddering against Mike’s body, his arms loosely grasped around his shoulders. Mike smiled crookedly, resting his cheek in Micky’s curls. He let go of Micky’s cock after he was spent, wiping his hand on his jeans and kissing Micky’s temple, then his cheek, his jaw and finally his mouth. Micky moaned and his mouth was warm and pliant and Mike just couldn’t get enough. But, finally, he broke the kiss and smiled softly at Micky.

“C’mon you. Let’s go to bed.”

Micky nodded dumbly, breathless and speechless, and let Mike lead him to the bed, pulling the covers open and sliding in between them. He rested his head on a pillow and looked over at Mike, who looked back at him placidly and began to undress. He let Micky watch him and they didn’t exchange a word as Mike shrugged off his shirt, toed off his moccasins and took his pants, shorts, and socks off. And then he climbed into the bed and Micky on was on him, warm and loose after his climax, wrapping his arms around Mike and kissing his mouth, and Mike indulged in more of that and the pleasure of the skin-on-skin contact with Micky for a good long while, but when they came up for air, he looked at Micky.

“I was thinkin’ … if we’re gonna do … this … then we need some ground rules. Y’know, so we’re both on the same page and no one gets hurt.”

Micky pressed his lips together. “Mike. Everything about this is insanely risky. Someone is going to get hurt. Someone always does. But I think we already decided that we’re okay with that.”

Mike was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I guess we did. Man, we’re kinda assholes, aren’t we?”

“We really are the worst.” Micky’s eyes twinkled, but then he was serious again. “But yeah, okay. So, we do this kinda thing when we both really want to do it. No hard feelings if one of us is tired or busy or just not in the mood.”

“Micky, you’re _always_ in the mood.”

“Mike, you’re always _in_ a mood.”

“Fine, so we keep it loose. And you can see girls and I have Phyllis. This thing … us … it’s a totally separate thing. Probably just for the tour.” _It has to be. I don’t know how else to justify it._

“We have to be really careful, Mike. If we get caught by the wrong people. A lot people could get hurt. Not just us. The other guys. Our families. Everyone.”

“Are we crazy to be doing this?”

“Absolutely. But it’s all I’ve been able to think about ever since it happened. When you saw me with Katy … I was just looking for a distraction. I was lonely, Nez. I missed you.”

“Well, that’s good to know now.”

“And I hated being mad at you. I didn’t like it at all.”

“I know, baby. It’s not your bag.”

“So, don’t make me do it again.”

“I’ll do my best, kid. Mad is my thing. Let me handle it and you can keep making the world fall more in more love with you every day. I’ll just be the grumpy sonuvabitch in the stupid hat.”

“I like the hat!”

“You like everything.”

“I’d like to get you off now.”

“Well, now, there’s something I’d like, as well.”

Micky slipped under the sheets and took Mike into his mouth and as he threaded his fingers in Micky’s soft hair and looked up at the ceiling, he was alarmed by how perfectly happy he was in that moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micky turns to Peter for advice. 
> 
> There is a lot of smutty smut. You have been warned ;-)

Mike and Micky had a lot of fun for the next while. A lot of making up to do after their tense standoff. They took to bringing their guitars when they met up in each other’s rooms on non-travel nights to fool around, using the pretence of late-night jamming/songwriting as an excuse to spend entire nights together without worrying about sneaking back to their proper rooms in the wee hours. And often they actually did pick up their guitars and jam, picking out melodies and trying out lyrics, letting their voices meld together in buttery harmonies. How well suited their voices were for singing together was something the two Monkees had happily noted early in their acquaintance, and now it was like a kind of foreplay. Sometimes it became a kind of playful game of chicken … seeing who would finally crack first and put down their guitar to lunge for the other.

The increasing intimacy of their friendship made them both wary about how much they were unconsciously carrying outside of their own little private world. Fortunately they’d always been demonstrative and physical with each other when their relationship was still platonic, but Micky often wondered, _Am I touching him too much? Does anyone sense anything different? I should really go hang out with Davy for a bit._

Not that it was any chore to pal around with Davy — Micky was terribly fond of the youngest Monkee. They’d hit it off since their audition days. But now Micky was carrying a secret that forced him to make conscious choices that had come very naturally before.

They tried not to spend too many consecutive nights together, but when the exhilarating concerts left them amped up and full of adrenaline — charged by the sheer force of hysteria, love, and teenage hormones being pumped at them in full force by a entire auditorium, Mike and Micky wanted — needed — to be together. Stripping down the moment they were alone in a hotel room and falling on each other and aching for release. Which they found together. Again and again and again.

But there were a few things they hadn’t tried yet.

“I want you so bad, Mick,” Mike would gasp as they arched together, his cock hot and burning against Micky’s stomach. “I really need you. Please, Micky …”

Micky knew what he meant by that, but also knew he wasn’t ready and honestly was kind of in the dark about … how it worked. Apart from the glaringly obvious. He knew it would be incredibly painful to let Mike just … go there … without some kind of preparation.

* * *

“I want to do it … let you do it …” Micky commented later one night when they were spent and relaxed together in bed, passing a joint back and forth. “I thought about it the first time we … got together.”

Mike looked at him. “… look, I know I say a lot of stuff when I’m real fired up in bed. But you know I don’t want you to do anything only because I tell you I want it. That’s a sweet thing about you, Mick, but if I’ve taken it upon myself to protect you from bastards demanding too much of you, then it’s my job to protect you from myself, too. When I’m in the moment … you just make me crazy, kid. In the good way. But I don’t wanna … y’know …”

He still had trouble talking about the night he had slammed up Micky up against the dressing room door in a jealous rage and forcibly kissed him, torn at his clothes … been completely out of control.

Micky smiled a little, taking another haul off the joint and passing it carefully back to Mike. He exhaled and coughed a little. “I know, Mike. But thanks for saying it. You don’t really need to protect me, you know. I’m the Hollywood kid, not you. I know this scene. It, uh, as you might say, ain’t my first rodeo.”

“That is precisely what I worry about,” Mike remarked, pinching the roach between two fingernails and taking a quick hit. “But that’s another talk for another time. What I mean to say is that I wanna be sure that you’re thinking of letting me fuck you because you really _want_ me to fuck you. It’s not enough for just me to want it. Here, kid, this fella is about done. You probably got one more good hit in there if you want it.”

Micky shook his head. “Naw, I’m cool. Thanks. And … yeah … I think I do. But I gotta … figure some stuff out. You’re okay to hold off until I do that?”

“Hey, baby, I’m just happy to be here. It’s … you make me feel real good, Mick.” Mike even blushed a little, stubbing out the roach in an ashtray on the bedside table.

“You’re pretty cute when you try to express a warm, squishy feeling, Mikey.”

“Aw, now you done gone and ruined it.” But he smiled and pulled Micky in for a kiss anyway.

* * *

There was only one person Micky could think of to ask about his dilemma. Someone who had both knowledge and who wouldn’t lay a heavy judgment trip on him about what he wanted to know. He picked up the phone and called for the extension to Peter's room. The phone rang and rang and he was about to hang up when the line was finally picked up. “It stopped being funny about seven calls ago, Davy!” Peter snapped, by way of greeting. “I may be a pacifist, but I’ll gladly make an exception for you _again_ if you don’t quit it!”

“Peter?” Micky asked hesitantly.

“What ... wait ... Micky?”

“Yeah, it's me.”

“Oh, man. I’m so sorry, Mick. Davy’s bored and making prank phone calls. Need to get that kid a hobby. Or a pet goldfish. I wanted to unplug the phone, but I’m expecting some company and want to get them settled before the gig.”

“I can talk to you later, Pete. It’s no big deal.”

“Naw, it’s cool. They won’t be here for a little while yet. Let’s rap, brother. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, would it be okay if I came over to talk about it in person?”

“Sure thing, man. Swing by 1207.”

“It shouldn’t take that long. I just have a couple questions that I thought you might be able to help me with.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

* * *

The air was heavy with incense and dope and scarves were draped over the lamps to make the room look less generic and impersonal. And, well, basically Peter was setting the scene to get laid. Micky smirked when Peter opened the door and let him in. “Oh, you shouldn’t have, Petey. This is too much for little ol’ me here in your _boo_ -doir.”

Peter chuckled. “You think too little of yourself, Micky. I hope that someone gives you mood lighting and a good vibe. You deserve it.”

Peter Tork had a way of being overly literal and earnest when Micky was riffing, and it always caught him a little off guard. Especially because he knew that Pete did it on purpose. He played the sweet, naive dummy on the show, but was anything but as a person, and seemed to need to remind them of that off set. Micky just smiled in response and sat down on the end of the bed. Peter perched next to him, easily folding his long legs into the lotus position. “So, what’s up? You said you have some questions for me?”

“Yeah,” Micky said slowly. _God, this is so awkward._ “I … ugh, I don't really even know how to say it.”

“Just say it, man. This is a judgment-free zone.”

_I sure hope it is._

“Have you ever had sex with a man?” Micky blurted, then blushed scarlet.

Peter was unfazed. “You mean, like fooling around or actual screwing? Wait, it doesn't really matter, because I’ve done both. But if you have a question about one over another.”

“Screwing. I … I’m … kinda fooling around with a guy right now.”

“Right,” Peter said, nodding. “With Michael.”

Micky’s jaw dropped. He was too gobsmacked to even try to deny it or improvise a convincing cover story. “What? How do you _know_ that? … does anyone else know? Does _Davy_ know?”

“Of course not,” Peter scoffed. “I mean, not as far as I know. He hasn’t said anything and he’s not giving off those vibes. You know Davy — if it’s not all about him, he doesn’t really notice all that much. You and Michael are being real discreet, don’t worry. It’s just … I notice these things. When two people are really vibing on each other. I figured that something was going on when you two were acting really weird for a few weeks. Like … normal on the surface, but your vibes were all messed up. Real nasty auras, dig? And then you weren’t talking at all. And then, suddenly, you were both thick as thieves again. Your auras are fucking beautiful now, man.”

Micky didn’t believe in most of the spiritual mumbo-jumbo that Peter like to spout, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Oh, yeah? What do they look like?”

“Pink and purple and fat. Happy auras.” Peter grinned. “I’m really happy for you, brother.”

“Well, it’s not like that,” Micky said, his original subject temporarily forgotten now that he finally had someone whom he could confide in about what was going on with him and Mike. “I mean, Mike’s married.”

“A foolish, outdated institution,” Peter said, making a face. “Monogamy, too. Humans are not designed for it. We’d all be much happier if we could just love freely and openly instead of being forced into tiny little boxes.”

“I have a feeling Mike and his wife wouldn’t see it that way. I don’t really know what we’re doing, Pete, but I think maybe it’s just for the tour. Y’know, to keep from going crazy. I think Mike is happier with me than screwing around with groupies behind Phyllis’s back.”

Peter looked at him closely. “Sure, okay. But what about you, Mick?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you claim you’re doing this to help out Michael so he can go home to his wife feeling kinda okay. What about you?”

Micky shrugged. “I dunno, man. It’s what it is.”

Peter frowned. “I feel the love you two have for each other. It’s a really groovy thing. Is it really just all about making things good for Michael?”

Okay, now Peter was making Micky feel a little uncomfortable. Talking about Mike and Micky as if they were a couple. That was too weird. “I dunno, man. We don’t really want to put a label on it. You dig?”

“Labels are for canned food,” Peter agreed, but the shadow over his face didn’t lift. He paused for a moment, then seemed to decide to move forward. “That’s about all they’re good for.” He slapped his knees and looked at Micky. “So … let’s just rap about this real straightforward-like. It’s just sex. It’s natural. Any way you wanna do it. Our bodies were made for it. But the first thing you gotta know is that taking a dick up the ass is … tricky business. Trickier than pussy. But as long as you take it slow and are prepared, you’ll be fine. You can’t rush it. And uh, Mike’s … hung.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Micky sighed.

“No, that’s good!” Peter enthused. “I mean … I confess I haven’t … received, so to speak. But we got a secret sweet spot up there and if you can hit it just right … outta sight, or so I’ve seen. How could that kind of sex be unnatural if there’s a pleasure center up there? The Great Creator knew what they were doing. And Michael will get you there.”

Micky blushed more. “God, this is weird to talk about, Pete.”

“Aw, c’mon, Mick. It’s super groovy that you’re expanding your horizons. We should be able to talk about this stuff. We’re here for a good time, not a long time. Experience everything you can.”

“Was it … good?”

Peter grinned. “Yeah, it was far out. I mean … I didn’t know the guy all that well. But he was pretty sexy and he really, _really_ wanted me to do it to him. I figured, what the hell, right? He really got off on it. I’d say it’s probably even more groovy if you have a real connection with the other person. But, yeah, you gotta tell Michael to take it easy on you. Go slow, start with fingers and work your way up. And you gotta use some lubrication. Lots, actually. It’s not like how chicks get wet. You need to help things along. Otherwise you’re going to have a bad time. You deserve more than ‘spit and a promise.’”

Micky frowned. “I dunno, man. This is starting to sound like a hassle. It’s not like I know where to get that kind of stuff and I am _not_ sending someone out to find it for me.”

Peter shrugged. “Chicks use it, too. Sometimes if we’re having a big session, it makes things more comfortable. But that’s beside the point, because the Tork pharmacy is always open, brother. Hang on a sec.” He effortlessly unfolded from the lotus, stood up, and moved into the bathroom.

Micky folded his hands in his lap and thought about the things Peter had told him when he heard Peter’s voice echoing off the bathroom tile. “Heads up!”

Micky looked up in time to catch a small bottle of some kind as it flew out of the bathroom. He was peering at the label when he heard Peter again. “Incoming!”

A little baggie of pot sailed through the air and Micky snatched it up. “Oooooh!” he cooed like a child with a shiny new toy, holding it up to examine it.

Peter emerged from the bathroom and pointed at Micky. “That, my friend, is premium-grade Hawaiian purple kush. You’re gonna wanna go easy on the stuff. I mean, it’s not like you can OD on it or anything, but instead of a night of groovy lovemaking, you’ll probably just drool on each other and go to sleep. Maybe that’s your scene; it’s not my place to judge. But otherwise, just roll a little baby spliff and share it. A couple of hits each and you’ll feel super mellow. It’s important to be relaxed, especially for the first time. You got papers?”

Micky nodded, looking at the bottle of lubricant and then up at Peter. Who rolled his eyes. “It’s brand-new, okay? Never been opened. I know you all think I’m a nasty freak, but c’mon, man!”

Micky smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Big Peter. Just checkin’. Thanks for helping me out. I really appreciate it.”

“I mean … I am a nasty freak, but I have my standards.” Peter chuckled as he sat down next to Micky again. “I hope it goes well, brother. If not, then try, try again. Lemme know if you ever want a third party.”

Micky blinked. “What’s that now? Really?”

Peter shrugged. “I bet you two are real groovy together. Beautiful. I can dig it. Just sayin’, I’m open to it.”

Micky smiled at his blond bandmate. “You’re a real weird cat, Pete. But I dig you.” He wasn’t sure what prompted him to do it, but he leaned over and made to kiss Peter on the cheek, only Peter turned his head and kissed him full on the mouth instead. Micky blinked and stared at him. Peter licked his lips and made a thoughtful face.

“Yeah, that’s … as our tiny English friend would say, ‘a bit of all right.’”

Micky snorted and patted Peter on the cheek, just a little shy of a warning smack. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Hey, thanks!”

Micky stood up to leave, tucking the goods safely into his pockets. “You have a good time tonight. With your friends.”

“I always do.” Peter smiled and flashed him the peace sign.

Then the phone rang again. “I’m gonna kill him,” Peter muttered, moving to answer it. “Gonna fucking kill him, Mick. It’ll be easy to dispose of the body — there’s hardly anything there to dispose of.”

Micky closed the door behind him and walked down the hallway. “What is it about me that everyone thinks they can just kiss me whenever they want? Who’s next … Davy?” he muttered.

* * *

Back in his room, Micky checked his watch and then pulled the bottle and the baggie of grass out of his pockets. He was curious and wondered if maybe he shouldn’t try touching himself first before letting Mike fool around down there. And then he could control it and figure out if he even liked it. Because he was scared. Of it being too painful. And also what letting Mike actually penetrate him meant. It was one thing for them to fool around and suck and jerk each other off, but this was a new level. _That’s some faggot shit_ … Mike’s words echoed clearly in his head. _What does this make me?_

He shook off that thought and decided he didn’t want to mess around with Peter’s nuclear-grade dope before showtime. It was like the time he tried dropping LSD an hour before a concert, because Hendrix did that and it turned him into a guitar monster genius. All it had done to Micky was turn him into a babbling idiot who couldn’t even hold his sticks, let alone play. They’d had to remove him from the stage and lock him in the bus to come down.

There was time. Micky took a shower and walked naked into the room. He sat on the bed and opened the bottle. He carefully poured a little bit of the contents into his hands and felt the consistency. It was light and very, very slippery. He lay back on the mattress, spread his legs and awkwardly reached down to touch himself, rubbing around the puckered hole and dipping a slick finger inside, pushing it in slowly.

It felt like … a finger up his ass. Like a medical procedure. He frowned. But then realized he needed to get into the same head space as when he was going to jerk off his dick. He imagined Mike … naked and hard and talking filth to Micky the way he often liked. Mike wanted this so much. He wanted Micky so much. He wanted to take his big, hard cock and fuck Micky’s brains out with it.

_Oh, there it is._

Micky’s cock twitched and he slid his finger in deeper and imagined it was Mike. Mike would have trouble going slow, but he’d do it for Micky. He’d do anything Micky said if it meant he got a chance at screwing him, finally.

That thought turned him on. That maybe being the “bottom” meant he had more power than he originally thought. He could make Mike wait and watch the anticipation drive him crazy until finally … Micky groaned he slid another finger in without even thinking about it. He had some of the slick on his other hand and closed it around his cock. _Oh god, yeah. That is good_.

He stroked his cock slowly, feeling it harden and as he began stroking his fingers in and out at a similar pace. His muscles were beginning to loosen a little and it wasn’t feeling quite uncomfortably tight. It was nothing compared to the size of Mike’s cock when he was fully erect, but he was seeing how going slow and working up to it was possible. Which put him at ease and allowed him to drift further into fantasy as he touched himself, letting his self-consciousness slip away.

By the time he achieved a shattering orgasm, he’d worked three fingers into himself and writhed as he pumped his cock, moaning Mike’s name as he climaxed, shooting almost as high as his collarbone.

“Fuck …” he gasped weakly, slowly withdrawing his fingers and letting go of himself. Yeah, okay, there was definitely something to this. He just had to be brave enough to let Mike in on the fun next time.

* * *

Just before they went onstage, Micky sidled up behind Mike and rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder. He could feel Mike’s smile.

“You ready, babe?”

“Mmm-hmmm. Always,” Micky murmured in his ear, confident that the roar of the crowd would keep his next words solely heard by Mike. “Just wanted to let you know that earlier I just fucked myself on my fingers thinking about you screwing me with your big dick. I came so hard I nearly passed out. I’ll be expecting you in my room after the show. I got something to show you.”

Mike closed his eyes briefly and let out a throaty growl. “You little sonuvabitch cocktease,” he muttered, so quietly Micky could barely hear him above the din. “You had to let that slip now?”

“Good thing your gee-tar will hide that hard-on, Nez. There are children present, for heaven’s sake! Have some decency.”

“You are in big, _big_ trouble, you goddamn —”

The rest of his words were drowned out as the band was announced and the screaming hit fever pitch. They hustled on stage and Micky was glad that he was behind the kit and equally protected from showing the kids a little too much as well.

* * *

Micky had barely answered the door when Mike pushed his way inside and lifted Micky clear off his feet, kissing him fiercely until Micky’s head spun.

“That’s for being a cocktease. Oh, boy, you’re gonna get it and get it good.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” Micky said, smiling as Mike set him down again. “But don’t go getting too riled up too fast. It’s going to … take a little while. I stretched myself out a little earlier when I was … experimenting. But it’s gonna take a lot more if you expect to get that monster of yours in there.”

Mike smiled crookedly as he began to strip out of his clothes. “If you’re waiting for me to apologize for having a big dick, you’re gonna be waiting a long time, kemo sabe. That’s nothin’ any man will ever be sorry about.”

Micky began to strip as well. “No complaints so far. But you’re gonna have to be patient, Nez. Not always your strong suit.”

“I’ll wait however long it takes, Mick. I want it to be good for us both. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Lie down. Let’s make out for a little while. I wanna be naked with you. Been thinking about it all damn night.”

Micky smiled and lowered himself to the bed, Mike’s suggestion putting him more at ease. “That sounds like a great idea. Also, I want to smoke a joint.”

“Another great idea. We are on fire tonight.”

* * *

“I want you to show me,” Mike said later — after they’d kissed and gotten each other off once to take the edge off and shared a joint — his eyes dark and hungry. “How you did yourself.”

Micky blushed. “Oh, c’mon, Mike. That’s kind of … embarrassing.”

“Nuh-uh. Not when you plant that image in my head right before we play and I have to spend the entire set trying to remember the damn chords and watch you make love to the crowd, all while picturing you getting yourself off imagining me fucking your tight little ass.”

Micky shivered, then moaned softly as Mike drew a large, warm hand up the length of his naked body and cupped his chin, leaning in for a long kiss.

“Show me,” he murmured against Micky’s lips. “I ain’t never done this before … show me. I don’t wanna hurt you. I wanna be good for you.”

That did it. Mike rarely asked for help. Or admitted to not being perfectly good at something. Micky sighed with a smile. “Okay. Grab that bottle over there …”

And he showed Mike. How he touched himself and gently eased a finger inside. How he played with his cock and imagined what it would be like with Mike there with him. Mike watched, his breath coming a little faster, his eyes growing darker. It wasn’t all that long ago that he would have been repelled by the idea of watching anyone play with their own asshole, let alone a man, but … well, now, his horizons had been expanded rather substantially.

Mike put some of the lubricant on his hand, leaned over, and replaced Micky’s hand with his own. He rubbed the large pad of his thumb around Micky’s hole, teasing it and testing the resistance. Micky shuddered — the sensation of being touched there by another person was completely different. It felt good, but it also caused him to tense up a little.

“Relax, baby,” Mike said softly, stroking him a little more firmly. He caught Micky’s mouth in a long, slow kiss. The kind he now knew usually reduced Micky to a puddle. He felt Micky moan into the kiss and slowly breached him with a finger, gently pressing inside. Micky gasped and Mike nuzzled into his neck. “Breathe, kid. I know you gotta breathe through this. How does this feel?”

“Weird, good. Good … ah, I dunno … Mike …” The grass was helping, at least. Micky was feeling a nice little stone coming on that would help him mellow out.

Mike was realizing it was going to take every ounce of his restraint to keep it slow. Micky was so tight and good, but he wasn’t ready yet. Not even a little bit.

“Touch yourself, Mick. Touch your cock. I wanna see you do it.”

And Micky nodded and reached down to wrap his fingers around his cock and began to stroke it slowly while Mike slid his finger in deeper, feeling himself getting hard again as Micky gasped in pleasure. “Yeah,” he moaned. “It’s good. Deeper. There’s a spot up there … I don’t know where … but it’s supposed to feel real good, Mike.”

Mike slowly inserted his middle finger, slowly, slowly, letting it slide alongside his index finger inside Micky. Micky groaned. “Oh, Mike … that’s …”

“It’s okay, kid. Just lemme try something. I’ll stop if it’s hurting too bad.”

He pushed past the ring of muscle and slid more easily in. Deeper. And he very gently felt around … then felt something. And then Micky’s eyes went wide and he cried out, his hips bucking up, driving Mike’s fingers up and over the spot again. “Oh, god!”

“You okay, Mick?” Mike asked, somewhat anxiously, unsure if Micky’s response was a good one or not.

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Oh, fuck. It’s intense, though. Just … not so much.”

Mike eased off the curious spot, but kept moving his slick fingers in and out slowly, leaning over to lick and suck at Micky’s nipples as he did so, remembering that first night when Micky had told him where he liked to be touched.

Micky moaned and Mike felt him contract around his fingers. He was trying to imagine how it was going to feel on his cock and he was relieved that they’d rubbed out the easy one earlier — no way in hell he’d last for any decent amount of time otherwise.

* * *

It took a good long while of fingering and foreplay and two false starts before Micky agreed to let Mike try again. In spite of everything, they were both nervous. Mike hadn’t been with a “virgin” in a long time and Micky was just afraid of getting hurt. But he’d decided that he could take a little pain as long as it wasn’t the only thing he felt. And he gritted his teeth, trying to stifle a whimper of pain as Mike got between his legs and pressed the head of his cock inside. But then he also remembered to breathe and he looked up into Mike’s nervous, concerned face and managed a small smile. “Keep going, Mikey. I’m all right. Just … slow, okay?”

Mike nodded and pushed forward a little more. Micky gasped as he felt Mike move past the tight ring of muscle and ease in deeper. He’d never felt anything like this before. The sensation of being filled. He thought about every girl he’d ever screwed and wondered if that’s how it felt for them, even though it obviously wasn’t exactly the same.

Slowly, slowly, Mike inched forward until finally, he was completely in. “My god,” he breathed. Micky was so hot. So incredibly tight. He was torn between wanting to pound him through the mattress and terrified to move and risk hurting him.

Micky was breathing hard and stared up at Mike helplessly, the expression on his face the most vulnerable Mike had ever seen. Mike was close to losing himself to the sheer pleasure of being surrounded in such tight heat … in Micky … but he forced himself to focus.

“It’s okay, Mick,” he murmured, kissing his lips softly, gently, again and again. “I got you. I love you, okay?”

Micky swallowed and nodded. He hated coming off like a scared girl, but he hadn’t counted on the feeling of Mike actually inside of him to be so intense. Whatever power he’d thought he’d had before was gone and he felt extremely vulnerable and helpless. Legs splayed open, pinned down under Mike’s weight. Even though it was Mike … the only person he’d ever allowed to do this.

“No, I mean it,” Mike said. And kissed Micky again and again, softly and gently until Micky felt the tightness in his chest start to ease and as his muscles began to adjust to the penetration. “I love you, Micky. That you trust me enough to be with you like this. I’ll take care of you, baby. Just keep trusting me.”

“I love you, too,” Micky said very quietly. “And I trust you.”

“This damn time I will think about it before I do it,” Mike said, with a smile, alluding to their first sexual experience together, which felt like years ago now, compared to what they were doing now.

And he held Micky’s gaze and began to move very slowly, rolling his hips and letting his cock slide out and back in. Micky let out a long breath and moaned. “Oh god, Mike …”

“S’alright?”

“Yeah. It’s good…. It’s good. More …”

“I can give you more. All you want, baby.” Mike rocked his hips again and went in even deeper. Micky shuddered, gasping. He didn’t tell Mike to stop, so Mike began to move a little more. Still keeping his movements slow and steady, watching Micky through the haze of his own arousal. So tight and hot around him … he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to last.

Micky whimpered and Mike looked at him. “Am I hurting you, babe?”

“No,” Micky breathed. “No … it’s just … it’s a lot, Mikey. It’s so intense. I don’t … don’t stop …”

Mike continued rocking into Micky and lowered himself down to kiss him, to press their naked bodies flush together, as physically close as two people could possibly be. Micky kissed him back, moaning with each thrust. It was easing up a bit and he didn’t feel so much like he had been skewered and split in two. Mike kissed Micky’s neck and murmured into his ear. “You’re so fucking hot. You’re making me crazy.”

Micky moaned and for the first time rocked his own hips up to meet Mike on the downstroke and they both gasped. Micky clutched at Mike’s biceps and bit his shoulder – not realizing he’d done it until Mike growled and bit his neck in response. Micky cried out in pleasure, rocking up harder against Mike.

“More?” Mike rasped into his ear.

“More,” Micky moaned.

Then Mike hooked an arm under Micky’s right knee and brought it up and Micky’s eyes rolled back in his head as Mike thrust in more deeply than he even believed was possible. Then there was a white-hot flash of pleasure that burned behind his eyes and his cry sounded almost like a sob.

Mike growled again, but happily. He quickened his thrusts, but keeping at the same angle and depth, needing to hear Micky make that sound again. Micky wrapped his arms around Mike’s shoulders and clung to him, his cries growing louder and more unhinged. They were both too far gone to even worry about making too much noise. Micky’s cock was leaking and being rubbed against Mike’s stomach and his body stiffened as he felt his climax growing. Mike by now had learned to know when Micky was close by the expression on his face.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” he purred in Micky’s ear. “Come for me the way you did earlier when you were fingering yourself and dreaming of my cock. You’re taking it all now. You’re so fucking good, babe.” Micky was shaking against him with tension as he hovered on the precipice.

Mike bit his lip in an effort to keep up the steady pace, driving deeply into Micky one, two, three more times and then Micky let out a sobbing cry and came, his hips bucking up, back arching as he threw his head back, his orgasm ripping through him, even more powerful than the one he’d given himself earlier that day.

“Oh fuck!” Mike cried as Micky’s muscles contracted around him, squeezing and rippling and it tore his own climax from him unexpectedly. He buried his face in Micky’s neck and thrust hard and fast as the waves of pleasure rolled and crashed over him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

And then he collapsed on top of Micky, who’d gone completely limp beneath him. And then Mike worried if maybe Micky had really passed out this time.

“Mick …” he murmured against the warm, damp flesh of Micky’s neck. “Micky … you okay?”

He heard a small sound of acknowledgement. And then felt Micky tremble and suddenly the side of Mike’s face was wet. Micky was weeping.

“Oh, Micky … babe … no …” Mike whispered, trying to shift to look at his friend … his lover … and unable to move yet.

But then a hand touched his head, stroked Mike’s hair reassuringly. “It’s okay, Mike …” Micky choked. “I’m okay … I just … you knocked something loose in my head. I don’t know what … but it’s …” he broke down again.

No, it was not okay. Mike’s protective nature woke up and reasserted itself, and this time he was able to put some weight on his arms and angle himself up to look at Micky’s face.

Micky was smiling and weeping at the same time, completely bewildered by his own emotional response.

Mike looked at him with a small, soft smile. He kissed Micky’s mouth and then his face, tasting his tears as they fell. Micky sought out his mouth again and they kissed, slow and deep until Micky’s body stopped trembling and his tears stopped falling.

Mike touched Micky’s cheek and then smoothed a hand over his tousled hair. He braced a hand on the bed and slowly, carefully, pulled out. Micky made a soft noise. Earlier he’d felt uncomfortably full and now he felt an emptiness.

Mike gathered Micky up, settling Micky’s head into the crook of his neck and holding him close, one hand stroking his shoulder. They were still both utterly speechless.

“Sorry about … the crying,” Micky finally said, a little sheepishly. “That’s never happened before. I think maybe I can blame it on Peter’s superpowered grass.” That wasn’t true, not really, but he couldn’t say that being brought to orgasm in that way — especially for the first time, had overwhelmed him so completely that his tears were just a way of releasing the residual tension.

“Ah. You didn’t tell me that was Pete’s grass, but that makes sense why you were so insistent we didn’t smoke too much. He definitely goes for a higher grade when it comes to his drugs.”

“Hey … Mike?”

“Yeah, kid? What’s up? You okay?”

“I gotta tell you something. I didn’t want to tell you earlier and spoil the mood. You’re not gonna like it. But you need to know.”

Mike looked down, but Micky was busy pretending to study the shape of Mike’s right clavicle. “Okay, now you’re worrying me a little. Come out with it, Mick.”

“I got the pot from Peter.”

“Yeah, I know that now.”

“I got the lube from Peter.”

“… okay …”

“Peter knows about us.”

“What?” Mike sat up quickly, causing Micky to roll off to the side. “What the fuck do you mean, he _knows_? How much does he know? What did he say to you? DID YOU TELL HIM?”

Micky sat up as well, holding up his hands in supplication. “I didn’t tell him anything, Mike! He guessed. You know how he is with reading people and their ‘vibes,’ or whatever. He’s a really sensitive guy. He picks up on things. He saw how weird we were being with each other and then how we got over it and when I told him I was …” Micky trailed off, biting his lip.

Mike glared at Micky. “Told him … what?”

“I told him I was messing around with a guy and I wanted some advice on how to prepare for … what we just did.” Micky looked at Mike. “Because I had a feeling Pete had done it before and I don’t exactly have a lot of pals who will own up to ass-fucking other men, you know? I didn’t tell him it was you. He just guessed.”

“And you confirmed it,” Mike sighed.

“He totally took me by surprise!” Micky exclaimed. “Even if I’d thought up a lie or a denial, it was all over my face. Pete’s no dummy. We all know that. But he’s also our friend and he’ll keep our secret. He thinks it’s groovy that we’re … doing this.”

“He would,” Mike said. “What about Davy?”

“He said he can’t speak for Davy, but Pete’s pretty sure he has no clue. Davy isn’t much of a subtext guy.”

Mike drew up his knees to his chest and scrubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Shit, Micky. Shit, shit, shit.”

Micky wanted to touch him, but Mike’s body language advised against it. “It’s going to be okay, Nez. Pete doesn’t care.”

“That’s what I’m worried about!” Mike snapped. “That he doesn’t care and thinks it’s ‘so groovy’ that you and I are sleeping together. He’ll be so damn cool and progressive about it that he’ll just get wasted and mention it casually to his weirdo Hollywood hippie hangers-on who will tell all of their low-life pals and it just goes on from there …”

“… and so what?” Micky said.

Mike looked up at Micky, incredulous. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

“Yeah. You’re talking about a _hypothetical_ bunch of burnouts — who can’t remember where they were crashing two days ago — hearing some gossip about two of the Monkees maybe having the hots for each other … please tell me I’m not the only one who hears how fucking ridiculous that sounds.”

“I don’t want that kind of gossip going around with my name on it!”

Micky laughed this time. “Oh, Mikey. I’m sorry — I don’t mean to sound like a Hollywood asshole, but get with it, baby. This whole scene is fueled by that kind of gossip. Just ’cuz you don’t hear it, doesn’t mean it’s not out there. Whether it’s true or not. We didn’t invent this — people have been talking about who’s fucking who and who is secretly gay for years. Since my dad’s time and before that. Since forever. The town is full of open secrets. Things that people just know and don’t talk about. Tab Hunter fucking Tony Perkins while the studio sends him out on ‘dates’ with Natalie Wood so they can take photos for the screen rags, promote their pictures and make him look like Mr. All-American straight boy so people will keep going to see his pictures. It’s all part of the machine. Everyone is paying everyone else off.”

Mike stared at Micky. “Are you serious? Tab Hunter and Tony Perkins? I mean, they’re both kinda pretty-boys, but I never guessed …”

“ _I’m_ a pretty-boy,” Micky said softly, looking at Mike. “I just let you fuck me in a way that … well, I’ve never anyone touch me that way. Not even getting close to that. And there have been those who really wanted to, believe me. Auditions I could have bypassed, parts I could have had handed to me. I’ve been doing this a long time, Mike. Much longer than you, anyway. You don’t know the scene the way I do. And I’m telling you that it’s going to be fine. And I’m feeling a little freaked out right now because you look like you’re about five seconds away from bolting from this room. What are you going to do now?”

Mike leveled his gaze at Micky, his eyes turning fierce as Micky oh-so-casually referenced casting-couch politics. He shifted over and put his arms around Micky, his own fear and paranoia temporarily shunted aside. “I’d kill anyone who put their hands on you like that,” he said in a low, quiet voice.

Micky smiled softly, letting Mike hold him. “It wasn’t really like that. Not for me … my family insulated me from most of that. And I was out of the business for a bunch of years. But yeah … insinuations were made. Invitations issued. I’m pretty much too old for it now. They like ’em young. Real young.”

“I know it’s a dirty, nasty, horrible business. And we signed up for it.”

“We sure did. And then some.”

Mike sighed and eased back down into the bed, taking Micky with him.

“Hey … Mike?”

“Oh my god, Micky. That tone of voice again. What now?”

“Peter asked about … joining us.”

“Joining us … what do you mean … oh …” Mike burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. He asked. He said we were probably really groovy and beautiful together and he dug it.”

“Man, he’s one weird cat.”

“That’s what I told him. But he was real sweet about talking about … sex stuff. And then gave me the lube and the weed. So I kissed him on the cheek … and he snuck a kiss on my mouth.”

“He what now?”

“I think he was just curious. You seem to like it, so he wanted to try, too.”

“Huh. And his conclusion?”

“‘A bit of all right.’”

Mike looked down at Micky and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Then he shook his head. “A bit of all right? Kissing you is outta sight, Micky. But he didn’t get to kiss you the way I do.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“Naw. It’s … it’s Pete. I don’t often understand the cat, but he’s not a bad guy.”

“C’mon, Mike. He’s better than ‘not bad.’ He’s pretty great. You just need to give him more of a chance.”

“Well, you just … you get people, Mick. I’m not as good that way. A lot of people don’t get me, either, but you do. And you get Peter, too. It’s pretty cool. Anyway, I’m not sore about him doin’ that. He was just being … a cheeky sonuvabitch. I’m of half a mind to get back at him for that, though.”

Micky looked up at Mike, intrigued. “Oh, yeah? What do you have in mind?”

Mike shrugged. “I’m sure our dirty, nasty, horrible minds can come up with something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story, re: Tab Hunter and Anthony Perkins. A real shame they couldn't be together publicly. What a gorgeous pair they made. https://www.queerty.com/secret-love-affair-tab-hunter-anthony-perkins-getting-hollywood-treatment-20180607


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micky and Mike lay a "trap" for Peter. But the tour's going to end soon and Micky worries about what's next. But first he has to deal with Davy.
> 
> CW: Some very light sub/dom behavior in this chapter as Micky and Mike's sexual relationship evolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Davy has been pretty neglected in this story, so he gets some time at last. I totally ship Davy with any of the boys, but for the intents of this narrative, he is straight as an arrow. Peter already horned his way in and I can't be writing all four of them getting frisky together. I mean ... maybe someday? Just not now. Someone needs to be the voice of reason here.

The summer went on and Mike and Micky continued to carve out their own little world-within-a-world of the Monkees touring machine. Micky pondered about how much things had changed in the past months or so since they embarked on this tour … and on this wild trip together. It had started with both of them so freaked out to touch each other intimately when they were high and horny to them barely able to not put their hands all over each other in public. If they weren’t traveling overnight between cities, they were shacked up together in one of their rooms. Davy would invite Micky out to party if they were in a major city where he had friends — Davy had a lot of friends — and more often than not Micky would make up an excuse to not go. He was feeling guilty by the hurt look in his friend’s eyes from the last time Davy issued an invitation and Micky rejected it. Davy wasn’t stupid and it was clear he was starting to think something weird was going on. Previously, Micky had always been up for a good time. He did very well with girls, but having Davy around was like catnip. They performed well together as wing-men, but now Davy had lost his playmate and was starting to take it personally. And Micky could hardly blame him.

But he also found it difficult to care all that much at the moment. Because the tour was drawing to a close in the next couple weeks and then what? Mike went home to his wife and child and pretended like he hadn’t been screwing his drummer stupid for weeks on end? They went back to filming and recording and still being in each other’s pockets all the time, but no time to truly be alone together.

And what was Micky supposed to do? Just forget it all happened and go back to picking up chicks? He hadn’t gotten with a woman in ages and hadn’t even missed it. Not that he wasn’t into them anymore, but this thing with Mike … so secret and dangerous and … addictive.

Their dynamic was changing in their sexual encounters. The trust between them had grown and evolved so much that Micky had reconsidered his stance on the “rough stuff.” He still didn’t like to be manhandled too much or thrown around or hit or degraded. But he did like it when Mike talked dirty to him. He didn’t even mind being called a slut now and again. He loved sex and was unashamed about loving it. Needing it. And he discovered he liked being fucked. Being fucked hard. And when Mike took charge and gave him what he needed. Mike knew what he needed and when he needed it. And that was the best and worst thing about this … thing they were having.

_It’s an affair. Call a spade a spade._

But he just couldn’t. Couldn’t accept that reality. So instead he tried to cling to the old idea that he was just keeping Mike away other women while they were on the road. At least Micky couldn’t get pregnant.

They’d started joking around about how they could “get back” at Peter for kissing Micky. Micky still didn’t worry about Peter spilling the beans on them. He knew Pete well enough now that the guy could keep a secret. Especially about people he cared about. But Mike didn’t feel the same way. He and Peter were worlds apart in terms of their upbringing and personalities and personal lives. Mike had married very young, and subscribed to a religion, and, despite his artistic talents and leanings, was very much “The Man” compared to Peter. He had fallen fully into the Free Love movement and had turned his home into a commune for like-minded souls. Mike watched his money carefully, but also spent it on luxury items. If Peter could give his money away faster than he earned it, he would, but they were raking it in these days. And everyone in Peter Tork’s extended circle was living high off the hog. Micky worried about that a lot, but didn’t know how to approach that situation. It wasn’t his place to tell Peter how to live his life and spend his money. He felt suspended between the two worlds. He was into the whole hippie thing, but not as deep as Peter. And his upbringing made him very pragmatic about business and money in the TV world. But he didn’t envy Nez and his family responsibilities. Micky loved being young and free. He wanted to make music and build things and see the world.

But when it came down to brass tacks, he cared for them both because they shared a similar feature: they were very loving and very devoted. Mike concealed it under his prickly exterior, while Peter wore his heart on his sleeve, but in essence they were the same in that regard. Maybe Micky could get them to see that eventually.

But right now he was pretty obsessed with Mike Nesmith and his big cock and Mike talking dirty to him about Peter while Micky was pressed into the bed on his stomach, ass up the air and Mike gripping his skinny hips, fucking him hard and deep and eventually reaching down to jerk him off until Micky clutched the blanket between his teeth to muffle his cries as he came, and Mike kept fucking him, purring filth until he groaned and came also, and Micky took pleasure in the new sensation he’d come to love — of Mike coming inside him. Hot and hard. And then he collapsed on his side, taking Micky over with him, holding him close, still buried deep inside. And he felt Mike’s soft lips on his neck and jaw and ear and his hands petting Micky, stroking and caressing him. All of his dominating aggression gone and replaced by tenderness. Always taking Micky back to that wild night near the beginning of the tour when he’d made Mike come into his hand and then had been so afraid in the aftermath. And then, after that rough encounter in the dressing room, Mike had never again been anything but tender to Micky after they had sex.

“Do you really wanna do that?” Micky finally sighed. “To Peter? Or was that just sex talk?” They had come up with a plan for Peter while they were fucking. It wasn’t really a plan as much as it was a game. A game that Micky was quite certain Peter would want to play. There was nothing mean-spirited or conniving about it. Just a little dirty fun.

“I really wanna do it,” Mike murmured into his ear. “I just … keep thinkin’ about it. If you’re on board, kid. Do you want to do it? It’s only just crazy sex talk if you don’t wanna. I’ve told you before … you’re callin’ the shots here. It’s down to you, baby.”

Micky smiled. “Let’s do it. Tomorrow. I think he’ll really dig it. And you’ll get what you need from him to feel better.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am, Nez. It’s gonna be okay.”

* * *

It wasn’t terribly difficult to lure Peter Tork to any particular place. A promise of grass and potentially some good pussy was the bait in the proverbial stick propping up a box to trap a rabbit. Mike and Micky waited until there was a gentle knock at the door.

“Who iiiiiiis it?” Micky trilled in a high, feminine voice. He smiled at Mike and Mike smiled back at him.

“It’s showtime, kid. Let in our lucky contestant.”

Micky opened the door to let Peter inside, then closed it behind him. Peter looked around, noting the lack of any kind gathering of people and cocked his head at Mike, taking a step forward.

“Naw, you just stand right there, shotgun,” Mike drawled as Micky returned to stand next to him. Peter stopped moving and stood with his back to the door.

“I do confess we lured you here under false pree-tenses, but I have a few questions for you,” said Mike.

“Lay it on me, brother.”

“Micky here tells me that you kissed him. That true?”

“That is true,” Peter confirmed.

“Now, did he tell you that you could do that?”

“No, he did not.”

“Did he ask you to kiss him?”

“No, he did not.”

“So, Pete, man, I once made that same mistake and I won’t do it again. Don’t do that anymore. I think you owe Micky an apology.”

Peter’s eyes shifted to Micky. He was smiling slightly — intrigued by what was happening — but his words were sincere. “I’m sorry, Micky. That was really uncool of me. I was just curious.”

“Well, see, that’s another thing,” Mike said, furrowing his brow. “I think you owe Micky another apology for saying that kissing him is just ‘a bit of all right.’ That ain’t fair. You know what kissing Micky Dolenz is like? It’s like touching the damn sun, man. It is magnificent and you would know that if you hadn’t been such a chicken and had asked to kiss him properly.”

Micky’s head swung around at Mike’s description and he smiled shyly, cheeks pinking slightly.

“I’m sorry, Micky. I really am,” Peter said. “And I would like to kiss you properly. May I?”

Micky turned his gaze forward again, walked up to Peter, and braced both hands against the door on either side of Peter’s head. He smiled softly, his expression warm and inviting. “Before this goes any further … the door’s open, babe. You can walk out any time. But if you wanna stay … you gotta play. Dig?”

“I want to play,” Peter said without hesitation.

Micky smiled more. “Groovy. Now kiss me properly. You were a sneak last time. Show me how you do it. Show Mike. I bet you’re good.”

A slow smile bloomed over Peter’s face. “Oh, you have no idea,” he said, and pulled Micky in for a long, slow kiss. Mike watched impassively as Peter stroked his tongue into Micky’s mouth and Micky moaned a little because that’s what Micky did when someone kissed him really well. The way he deserved to be kissed.

The kiss broke after a little while and Micky and Peter came up for air. “Wow,” Micky said, pushing a hand through his hair.

Peter smiled. “Like touching the sun.”

“Was good, huh?” Mike asked, beckoning Micky over. “Lemme taste him off yer mouth, kid. C’mere.”

Micky obediently returned to Mike’s side and Mike gently held Micky’s jaw in the crook of his thumb and forefinger and angled his head up to kiss him deeply, licking inside.

Peter groaned softly. “So groovy. You two are beautiful together.”

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, shotgun. Just you wait.” Mike moved to stand behind Micky, stroking his hands over Micky’s chest, playing with a nipple that hardened through his tight shirt. “So, what I’m gonna do now is take off some of Micky’s clothes. You want that, don’t you, Mick?”

Micky nodded. “I really want that.”

“And for every piece of clothing I take off or open up on our pretty friend, I want you to do the same. You dig?”

Peter nodded. “I dig.”

“Well, great. Good to see we’re on the same page. We’re all just havin’ a fine time here.” Mike moved to grab the hem of Micky’s T-shirt and Micky raised his arms to allow him to pull it off. Peter smiled and moved to pull off his shirt as well, revealing his tanned, well-muscled chest and torso. All his dopey, impotent, in-character clowning on the show often hid the fact that Peter Tork was a fine figure of a man. Probably the best built of all of them. Micky worried he was too skinny. Mike knew he was skinny and didn’t worry about it. Davy was built like a twelve-year-old boy. Which was why twelve-year-old girls loved him so damn much. Peter Tork was a Nordic god carved out of sandalwood.

But Mike loved the way Micky was built. He was perfect just as he was. And Mike stroked a hand up Micky’s bare chest, pausing in the little patch of hair at the cleft of his throat, and wrapping his hand possessively around Micky’s throat altogether. Not applying any pressure, but as a signal to Peter that he could do it and Micky would let him because they trusted each other. Micky didn’t flinch. In fact, he smiled, beatific. Mike smiled as well, kissed Micky’s ear and neck and let his hand fall away, down to open Micky’s pants. Peter’s hand moved to his zipper.

Mike lowered the zip and tugged down Micky’s pants and underwear enough to expose his half-hard cock. “Let’s see if the name Big Peter is true to form. Whip it out, shotgun.”

Peter smirked as he unzipped and pulled out his dick. It was mostly hard and quite impressive.

Mike let out a low whistle. “Very nice. Goin’ commando, too. Bold move, hoss. You’re just ready to go at all times, ain’t you?”

Micky made the OK sign with his thumb and forefinger. “But it should come as no surprise that Mike is the biggest dick in the band.” He smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant to say _has_.”

Peter snorted. Mike gave Micky a half-hearted light smack to the face. “That’s enough from the Peanut Gallery.” He wrapped his hand around Micky’s cock and began to stroke it a little. Micky moaned softly.

“In’t he pretty?” Mike drawled. “Just look at him. Gorgeous. He likes being looked at, doncha, Mick?”

“I like it,” Micky moaned.

“You like it when people watch, you pretty little slut,” Mike said. “You been a TV star half your life. Need people to look at you. Wouldn’t know what to do if they stopped looking. You like it when Peter sees you like this? Me stroking your dick and you loving it?”

“Yes,” Micky moaned, thrusting forward into Mike’s hand. “Yes, I like it, Mike.”

Peter groaned and took himself in hand, stroking his cock slowly.

“Oh, no, Pete, you don’t gotta do that,” Mike said. “We invited you here. It would be rude to expect you to take care of yourself. Micky will do it, won’t ya, Mick?”

“I’ll do it,” Micky sighed, panting, Mike still stroking him.

“Atta boy. Go over and get down on your knees. Show Big Peter what you’re made of.”

“Oh, fuck,” Peter sighed. “This is …”

“Some hot shit, right? You havin’ a good time, shotgun?”

“The best time,” Peter groaned. “You are a filthy, dirty man and I love it.”

“There’s more where this came from.”

“I certainly hope that’s true …” Then Peter’s words trailed off because Micky had knelt before Peter and started sucking him. Peter gasped and leaned back against the door.

Mike stepped in closer. He patted Micky tenderly on the head. “Ease up there, kid. I have to talk to Big Peter for a sec and he won’t take in a damn thing with you sucking his brains out through his dick.”

Micky chuckled around the cock in his mouth.

Mike leaned close to Peter, bracing his arm on the door, almost as if he was going to kiss him. “Now, look. I know you and I don’t always see eye to eye, but we’re friends, right?”

“I like to think so,” Peter said, voice cracking slightly because Micky really hadn’t “eased up” at all.

“This whole thing here … it’s something Micky and I have. And he’s mine. He belongs to me. For only as long as he _wants_ to belong to me. What you see here … this dynamic? Mick’s got all the power here. I get to call the shots only because he lets me. He can walk away at any time. And we decided to share some of this with you. Because you figured it out about us. And Micky trusts you. I like you, Pete. You’re a cool, weird cat. And you’re sexy as all get-out. I really like the way you play the banjo. And you have a nice dick. You like his dick, Micky?”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” Micky groaned as he let Peter’s cock work between his lips.

“He’s only ever sucked my dick before, but he’s gotten real good at it. Practices a lot. He swallows now, too. Didn’t do that before.”

Mike leaned in even closer. “So, keep this to yourself and you can come play with us sometimes. When we decide we wanna play with you.”

“I was never going to tell anyone anyway,” Peter said softly. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

“I dunno, Pete,” Mike said just as quietly. “But I wanna find out. I realized I haven’t really given you a chance to show me who you are. So I hope you’ll come again. Because you’re about to come pretty soon, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” Peter gasped, his hand gently resting on the back of Micky’s head as he sucked Peter harder and faster.

“He likes it when you pull his hair while he’s giving head.” Mike stroked the pad of his thumb over Peter’s freckled cheek and then over his lips. He gently pressed it inside Peter’s mouth and Peter let him, closing his lips around it and suckling gently, massaging Mike’s thumb with his tongue.

“Mmmm, nice mouth, too,” Mike remarked, pulling his thumb out. “You want me to kiss you, shotgun?”

“Yes,” Peter moaned, body tensing as his orgasm began uncoiling at the base of his spine.

Mike made a face. “Well, too bad, pal.” He sucked his own thumb into his mouth to taste Peter off it, and then used it to make a popping sound with his inner cheek as he turned away. “Maybe next time.”

Peter chuckled roughly. “You’re such an asshole, Michael. But I think I like you anyway.”

“Same to you, Big Peter.” Mike winked, then swaggered back to recline on the bed, rubbing himself through his pants. “C’mon, Micky, make Peter come so he can be on his way and I can fuck you until you can’t remember your name.”

Micky moaned and gazed up at Peter, who, now that his attention wasn’t split, watched, fascinated. “You’re so beautiful, Micky,” he breathed. “So gorgeous. Your aura is brilliant pink right now.” And then he leaned his head back against the door and came with a soft groan, pulsing into Micky’s mouth. Micky swallowed him down easily, then sat back on his heels, licking his lips, catching his breath. Peter offered his hand and Micky took it, getting back to his feet, grabbing Peter’s shirt and handing it to him.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, deadpan, but his eyes twinkled.

Peter kissed him, long and hard, then patted his cheek tenderly before zipping up and shrugging his shirt back on. “You two have fun.”

“We always do.” Micky waggled his eyebrows and flashed the peace sign. Peter smirked and walked out the door.

Micky locked the door behind him and turned around to face Mike, kicking his pants off, his cock still erect and demanding attention. “Well, that was certainly fun.”

“Boy howdy. That guy is gagging for it.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Mmmm. Get over here. Help me out of these clothes. Your ass is mine.”

“What should we do with him next time?”

“I want to see what Big Peter looks like with a big dick in his mouth. Pretty nice, I reckon. He can do both of us.”

“You are a dirty, filthy man and I love it.”

* * *

But later, when they were finally sated and exhausted, tangled up together in come-stained sheets, Micky couldn’t stop thinking. “So, we have this mess and we just pulled Peter into it.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a mess.”

“Oh, yeah? What would you call it? This.”

“I don’t call it nothin’. It’s … you ’n’ me. It’s private. Peter get a little taste of it now and again because it’s fun and I want to see what it takes to break his little serenity routine. Guy is far too mellow, if you ask me. How can you be mellow when there’s a war goin’ on and people are dyin’ and the president is getting shot in the street like an animal and I mean, Christ on a cracker, son …”

“Mike, you’re spiraling,” said Micky, turning to touch his face gently. Mike got this way sometimes and needed a nudge.

Mike shook his head and shrugged. “Yeah, okay. I just … yeah. He’s too … calm. I don’t trust it.”

“That wasn’t what I was talking about, Mike.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna talk about that, Mick. I got no answers except we’ll just have to see how it plays out.”

“Plays out?”

“Unless you want to agree that we never fuck around again ever once the tour’s over and we go home.”

Micky frowned. “Well, no, I don’t like that.”

“Didn’t think so. Let’s just stick a pin in that one, kid. I’ve had a real good day and I don’t want to be brought down. Do you?”

Micky shook his head and nestled into the crook of Mike’s shoulder.

“Did he taste good? It seemed like he tasted good.”

“He did taste good. Even his spunk tasted pretty good. Must be all that freaky health food he eats.”

“No foolin’. What you eat can make a difference?”

“Sure it can. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone definitely does _not_ know that, my friend. Where the hell do you pick up this stuff?”

Micky shrugged. “I read a lot?”

“Remind me to get a reading list off you one of these days. Science of spunk, my lord …”

* * *

They were on the plane — they’d come to the airfield directly from the concert venue. Flying somewhere. Micky had already forgotten. Someone would tell him eventually. He was trying to sleep, but felt too keyed up from the show. It was too late to take a sleeping pill — he’d never get enough hours in before he had to be awake and “on” again.

It was quiet except for snoring of the Monkees and their entourage and the deep hum of the engines telling Micky that they weren’t going to drop out of the sky. It was a lonely feeling when everyone was asleep except for him, but he also took a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet.

At least until Davy slid into the seat next to him.

“Oh, hey, Davy,” Micky whispered, smiling. “You can’t sleep, either?”

Davy frowned and shook his head. “Naw, man. Figured maybe I could talk to you now you’re finally on your own and have nowhere to piss off to other than jumping out of the plane. There are no parachutes — I checked.”

Micky frowned. Davy was very pissed off. “You think I’m avoiding you, Davy?”

Davy glared at Micky, his soulful brown eyes shooting sparks. “That’s more words than you’ve spoken to me in weeks, mate. Apart from show bullshit. I don’t know what the hell I did to offend you, but it’s getting real old. Be a fucking man and tell me what I did, huh?”

 _Fucking shit._ “Whoa, whoa, Davy, baby, cool out …” Micky said.

“No, fuck you,” Davy snapped, but still keeping his voice low so as not to wake up the other passengers. “You think I’m an idiot? You’ve been attached at the bloody hip with Mike, writing songs all night almost every night when we’re not traveling and now I see Peter going off with you two, as well. You want me out of the group? Is that it?”

“Davy,” said Micky.

“Well, sorry to inform you that it’s not your bloody decision, mate. I was signed first and I have a contract just like the rest of you …”

“Davy.”

“And I’m the romantic lead, but moreover I thought we were mates, man! What, am I not ‘hip’ enough for you? Not ‘groovy’ enough to hang out with anymore and —”

Micky grabbed the smaller man’s shoulders and shook him gently. “Davy!”

Davy fell silent, but still glared at Micky, his face — the face that sold teen magazines by the truckload — was contorted with hurt and anger. And Micky felt every inch the piece of shit friend he was.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Davy,” Micky said, earnestly. “I swear it. It’s not you. I’ve just been …”

“Been what?” Davy prodded. “I know it’s not a bird, ’cuz I ain’t seen you with any birds lately. None at all. You never want to go out … you’re just with Mike all the time and …”

“And …” Micky looked pointedly at Davy. Mike was going to freak when he found out that yet another person would be aware of their entanglement, but it couldn’t be helped. Davy deserved the truth. They couldn’t keep it from him any longer.

Davy’s brow furrowed in confusion and then his mouth fell open. “Wot? You … and Nez?”

“Shhhhh!” Micky hissed. “Jesus, keep it down. It’s a secret.”

“No kidding it’s a bloody secret!” Davy hissed back. “What the hell you two think you’re playing at? If you get caught …” He trailed off, clearly still trying to make sense of it in his mind. “Mike? Really?” Davy broke into an exaggerated American accent, “Mr. ‘I’m from Texas and I’m Mr. Manly Man and I punch holes in walls and eat nails for breakfast and you all better do what I say or I’ll stomp you.’ Him? A bloody poofter?”

Micky knew enough British slang by now to know what that meant, and he smacked Davy lightly on the arm. “Don’t call him that. Don’t call me that either. It’s not like that.”

Davy made a face. “Then … what is it, man? And why … why didn’t you tell me? Does Peter know …” Davy rolled his eyes as he made the connection “… of course Peter knows.”

Micky bit his lip, burning with shame. “I’m sorry, Davy. It was sort of on a need-to-know basis. Peter just figured it out. He’s weirdly intuitive like that.”

“Oh, and I’m not?” said Davy defensively.

Micky raised his eyebrows.

Davy exhaled through his nose. “Fine, I’m not. But you coulda told me, Mick. I mean … you think Hollywood is queer … you haven’t been on Broadway, baby. It’s a whole other bag. I’ve been around it since I was a wee chap. It freaked me out at first, but I got used to it. I don’t really care. Not really into it, meself, and as long as everyone respects that, I’m cool.”

“I was chickenshit,” Micky admitted, shrugging.

But then Davy furrowed his brow again, thinking. Micky unconsciously mimicked Mike in lifting a hand to his face in an _oh dear_ expression.

“So, if you’re not writing songs all night … and Peter’s gone off with you, too …” Davy’s jaw dropped again. “Blimey, Micky! All three of you? You must be joking!”

Micky shrugged again, making a sheepish expression. “Bonding exercises?”

“Don’t even,” Davy sighed, hiding his face in his hand for a moment. “You bloody tossers. Horndogs! Just when I think you can’t possibly find another way to make me feel like the odd man out.”

“Hey, Davy,” Micky said, touching his wrist. “It’s not like that, man. Not at all.”

“Oh, come off it,” Davy whispered, drawing up his legs so his compact frame fit entirely in the seat, seeming to disappear into himself. “You know it’s true. Even if you’re not doing it on purpose. I’m the little pretty-boy English chap who sings showtunes — and now apparently the only straight one, so that’s hilarious — and I’m not really into the hippie/rock ’n’ roll bag, I am the patron saint of ten-year-old girls, I don’t get a lot of your references, and I bash myself bloody on a fucking tambourine while the rest of you play real instruments like grownups.”

“To be fair, bashing oneself bloody on any instrument is pretty fucking rock ’n’ roll,” said Micky. “You really gotta let me take you to a Who show someday. It will change your _life_ , I promise you.”

Davy glared silently at him.

“Okaaaay, so we’re not in the ‘we can laugh about this’ stage yet. Davy, you are my friend. You were the first friend I made when we started testing for this crazy racket. I’m really fuckin’ sorry I haven’t been a good friend to you lately. I’m … going through some shit. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with Mike and what’s going to happen when the tour’s over and he has to go back and be the Married Monkee again. I’m just kinda pretending it’s not happening. I’m sorry, man. I miss you, I really do.”

Davy tried to maintain his scowl, but instead he just shook his head. “You big sop. You make it really hard to stay mad at you.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse. Just kidding ... it's one hundred percent a blessing.”

“You’re supposed to talk to your friends when you’re trying to sort out some heavy problems, man. Give me a little credit at least.”

“I’m sorry, Davy.”

“Fine, fine, consider it sorted,” said Davy. “But it’s too late to solve your problem right now. We need to sleep.”

Micky lifted the armrest separating them and patted his shoulder. “C’mere.” He leaned up against the window, providing a long length of arm and shoulder for Davy to lean on. Davy unfolded himself and cuddled up against Micky. “This is just for sleeping, you know. Don’t try to snog me or anything.” His tone was only half-joking.

“Pfffft, you _wish_ ,” Micky scoffed quietly. “I’ll have you know I’ve been told that kissing me is like touching the sun!”

Davy snorted. “What, you get a rash and then you need cream for it?”

Micky cracked up. “Oh, fuck you, Jones.”

“Go to sleep. Touching the sun … my arse. Rubbish.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour is winding down and everyone has a problem. Micky doesn't know what to do about him and Mike. Davy offers advice. Peter and Mike are at each other's throats. Davy suggests a creative solution to Micky. Meanwhile, Davy is generally fed up with all of it and worried about how Mike and Micky's secret relationship could destroy The Monkees entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said one more chapter, but Chapter 5 went over 10K words, so I decided to split it in two pieces. The second of which is missing a few scenes still. And then there will be a lengthy epilogue, which is already written. 
> 
> Here be smut. The boys are anxious about the end of the tour and also getting on each other's nerves, so ... they're very busy. Expending energy. Together. Naked.

They didn’t talk about how quickly the time was passing. Or what they were going to do or not do when the tour ended. But their nights together began to gradually take on an increased sense of urgency. And one night Mike made a surprising request.

“I was thinkin’ …” Mike said softly, not quite able to meet Micky’s gaze.

“… yeah?”

“Well, maybe you wanted to do me. It’s been kind of one-sided with us. And I thought …”

Micky smirked a little. “If you want me to fuck you, then ask me to fuck you. Tell me you want my cock. Don’t frame it as a ‘favor’ to me. And besides, aren’t you always the one going on about how we both need to want it?”

Mike was blushing now. “Aw, Micky … c’mon …”

Micky leaned in and brushed his lips softly against Mike’s, then down to kiss the cleft in his chin. “You’re always telling me what you want. Telling the other guys what you want. Telling Bert and Bob what you want. Punching walls and kicking chairs when you don’t get what you want. Why is it so different now to ask for something?”

 _Because this was something I was never, ever supposed to want. But I want it. Just from him. So bad._   “Iwantyoutofuckme.”

Micky smiled. “Say again?”

Mike looked up and met Micky’s gaze, a little annoyed. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You really sure?” Micky grinned, toeing the line.

Mike chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Boy, if you think you’re gonna make me beg, I swear ...”

“No, no, no need to ask me again,” Micky said quickly, sneaking another kiss. “But don’t think that you’re not going to be begging before this is all through …”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Mmm-hmm, you better believe it.”

“Hmm, we’ll see about that, kid.”

* * *

Micky loved having sex with Mike and playing a more submissive role, mainly because Mike was just so sexy when he was in control and giving Micky pleasure and talking dirty to him. But Micky fancied himself to be pretty dynamite in the sack when he was in charge and he’d finally get a chance to show that off. And, of course, he’d really wanted to feel what it was like to be inside Mike. To know Mike trusted him that much to get that close. To be in control of Mike’s pleasure for once. Because if Mike thought he was taking the reins on this one, he had another think coming.

Micky slid his hips between Mike’s legs and slowly lowered his body down so Mike could hold him, and they could kiss.

“You nervous?” Micky murmured against Mike’s lips.

“Like the long-tailed cat and all the damn rocking chairs.”

“That’s okay,” Micky said softly. “I’m not going tell you to not be nervous because … telling someone not to be freaked out doesn’t help them feel any differently. But you know it’s going to be okay, right? You trust me.”

“I trust you more ’n anyone, Mick. But yeah, I’m still scared. What’s it gonna feel like?”

Micky nuzzled into Mike’s neck and teased his ear with his teeth. “It’ll feel really weird at first. Unlike anything you’ve felt before. Like it won’t fit, but then it does. And it feels like too much, but then it doesn’t.”

Mike’s breath caught as Micky licked and sucked at the tender flesh of his neck. “And then … it gets really fucking good. And you wonder how you went without it for so long. How you never let yourself experience this groovy thing.”

Micky shifted down to kiss Mike’s chest, nuzzling into the hair there and then teasing his nipples with his teeth and tongue. Mike groaned softly, his hips twitching. “And then you want it all the damn time. You’ve seen how I want it from you. All the time.”

Mike moaned. “Fuck yeah. You can’t get enough.”

Appealing to Mike’s masculine ego never failed. Micky kissed his way down Mike’s body, licked along the teasing line of hair that led from his belly button and down to nuzzle at the base of his hardening cock before pulling away briefly to get the bottle of lubricant. He slicked the fingers of his hand and nudged Mike’s legs apart. Mike tensed up, but let his long, skinny legs part. Let Micky reach up and touch him in a place no one had ever touched him before. Not his wife, not even the goddamn United States Air Force medical examiners.

“Aw, Micky, I dunno, this is weird, man,” he moaned, letting his nerves get the better of him.

“Shhhhh,” Micky soothed, rubbing around and over his hole. “Let me try something first. But if you really want to stop, we can.”

And then Micky leaned over and took Mike’s cock into his mouth. Mike gasped and then felt Micky’s finger slowly enter him and it felt strange, but mixed with the sensation of Micky’s mouth on him, it felt pretty good. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Oh fuck … Micky.”

Micky sucked him slowly, lazily, just enough to keep Mike hard and wanting and receptive to his fingers. He had two inside Mike now, stroking slowly, in and out, stretching him, and Mike was breathing hard, his hips beginning to roll little bit, taking in more of the sensation. And then Micky pushed them in further, harder, and … there it was. Mike let out a raspy cry as Micky brushed over his prostate. Oh, fuck, that felt … crazy. Micky teased that spot a few more times until Mike whimpered and Micky let him slide from his wet mouth. “You doin’ okay, Mike?”

Mike let out a shaky groan in response. “You weren’t kidding about … that.”

Micky smiled. “I’m not as big as you, but I hope I can reach it a little later.” He leaned up to kiss Mike and visually confirm that he was doing okay, then kissed his way back down to lap and suck at his cock some more as he worked his fingers inside.

Mike’s legs splayed apart more and he rested shaky hands in Micky’s thick, wild hair. He was scared, but he wanted more. Wanted Micky’s cock inside him. Wanted to look up and see Micky hovering over him. He wanted to see what Micky looked like when he was fucking. He wanted Micky to come inside him.

“More,” he whispered, threading his hands into Micky’s hair and tugging gently. “I want you.”

Micky grunted around his dick and then Mike groaned as he fitted a third finger inside. It burned a little, but the slick made Micky able to fuck him slowly and he kind of liked the pain a bit. Some kind of cross between punishment and pleasure _. Just over a month and a bit ago I thought it would have been a faggy thing to jerk off in the same room as Mick and now look at me._

He burned with guilt and desire and moaned, “Fuck me, Micky. Do it.”

Micky raised his head again, his lips wet and a little swollen. Mick loved that cocksucking mouth on him. “You sure?”

“Don’t make me say it twice.”

Micky smirked. “Still a bossy sonuvabitch even when you’re on the receiving end. Well, I have an idea about that.” He shifted up, spreading Mike’s long legs even wider. Mike shuddered, finally connecting with the expression he’d seen on Micky’s face when he’d had him the same way. Spread and open and vulnerable.

“Lift ’em up a bit, bend at the knee,” Micky instructed softly, working the lubricant over his erection. Mike obeyed and then he gasped as he felt Micky pressing against him. For a second he wanted to call the whole thing off. Micky was too big and he’d been over-eager when he really wasn’t ready, but then Micky pushed inside him, slowly. He hissed as it burned, but it wasn’t the worst kind of feeling, and then Micky got past the tight muscle and he was easing in more and more and Mike stared up at him, gobsmacked.

“It’s wild, right?” Micky whispered, smiling down at him. “God, Mike, it feels so good. You feel so fucking good.”

Micky’s hair was tousled and wild and there was a hazy expression of bliss on his face and Mike soaked it in. He was giving that to Micky. Like the first time he gave Micky head. That made it all worth it and then some. And then Micky was flush against him. He brushed Mike’s thick, dark hair off his forehead with his clean hand and claimed his mouth in a kiss. Mike moaned and kissed him back, long and deep.

“I need to move, Mike,” Micky groaned against his mouth. “Can I?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

And Micky rolled his hips slowly and Mike felt him moving inside and oh, hell, this was something else. Micky smiled and rolled his hips again and then he raised up and caught Mike’s wrists, pinning them above his head. Mike cocked his head, looking up at Micky.

“Waited a while to get you this way,” he said softly, brushing a kiss over Mike’s lips as he thrust inside again. “You give me so much. Now you’re just going to take. Take what I give you, okay? You’re not in charge anymore. Just let go and let me give this to you. I know you trust me to take care of you.”

Mike’s mouth twitched as a smart-ass retort died on his lips. He tested Micky’s grip and quickly realized he could break it easily and that Micky was making it that way on purpose. He wasn’t trapped. He was free.

“Okay,” he whispered finally, letting his body relax and letting Micky hold his arms down. “Okay, Micky.”

“I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

And Micky started to rock his hips, moving slow and deep inside him and his mouth was on Mike’s lips and neck and nipples and Mike just took it. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to worry. He just had to accept what Micky so lovingly gave him. His hips rocked up and his back arched and he didn’t pay attention to the sounds he was making. It was just him and Micky, and Micky’s cock stroking in and out of him as he rolled those sexy, skinny hips of his, and Micky’s mouth every damn place. But then Micky released his hands because he was easing Mike’s long, skinny, hairy legs over his shoulders and Mike realized what he was aiming for just moments before Micky was able to thrust in deeply and Mike was making that inhuman sound again. Similar to the one when Micky had grabbed his cock when he was flying high and jerked him off without mercy. And now he was fucking Mike without mercy, almost bending him in half, and he was losing his mind. Yup, this would be it. What was a mind, anyway? He didn’t even need one. He didn’t need anything as long as he had this.

And then Micky was jerking him off at the same time and telling him it was time to come and Mike obeyed helplessly, crying out, hips jerking as he shot over Micky’s hand and his stomach and chest and … everywhere.

“Holy shit,” Micky breathed.

Mike stared up at him, panting. “Uh-huh …” was all he was able to get out. And then. “Did you …”

Micky shook his head. “Not yet. Didn’t want to miss the show.”

Mike managed a rough chuckle. “Worth the price of admission?”

“You better believe it, cowboy.” And then Micky was kissing him and starting to move again, moaning and Mike wrapped his legs around Micky’s slender waist and rocked up to meet him, even going as far as squeezing his muscles around him and making Micky whimper with pleasure — _oh, that is a nice trick_ — then reaching up to fondle his nipples.

“Fuck me, Micky,” he said in a low voice. “You feel so fucking good. You gonna come for me? Come inside me? You want that?”

“I want it,” Micky moaned, thrusting hard and faster. “Wanna come in your ass.”

“Do it,” Mike urged. “Fuck me. Come in me. No one has ever done that before. You’re the first. You got me right where you want me — giving me the business.”

And then Micky’s mouth crushed against his for a deep kiss. “Shut the fuck up,” Micky groaned against Mike’s lips, but his tone was warm. “You talk filth like a pro, but just … shut the fuck up and take my cock, okay?”

“Yessir!” Mike said, mocking a salute.

Micky grinned and kissed him again, then buried his face in Mike’s neck, kissing and biting him, his thrusts becoming erratic just before he let out a groaning cry and came. Mike wrapped his arms around Micky and rocked with him, feeling Micky pulsing inside him and Jesus if that wasn’t an unexpectedly erotic feeling.

Micky went boneless on top of him, panting, and Mike rather enjoyed the weight of him on top. He stroked Micky’s hair and dropped soft kisses on his cheek and temple. “That was … incredible, Mick. You’re incredible.”

He could feel Mick’s broad smile against his neck. “Thanks for giving me a turn in the driver’s seat. I’ve … been thinking about that for a long time.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I wanted you to ask me first. I wanted to know you really wanted it. That made it extra good for me.”

Mike wrapped his arms around Micky’s slender body and held him tenderly. Both of them were thinking about how time was running out for these experiences, but neither could find any words at all to express how that made them feel.

* * *

While Micky and Mike dreaded the end of the tour for personal reasons, things were less copacetic on the business front. Tempers were starting to fray as they came into the final run of shows. Particularly where Peter and Mike were concerned. They kept getting into stupid arguments and sniping at one another. Mike sarcastic and rude; Peter passive-aggressive and petty. It was driving Micky and Davy crazy. Micky lounged in a chair, fiddling with a drumstick, considering ramming it in his ear and ending it all when Davy poked his head inside the dressing room. “Pssst, oi! Dolenz!” His expression was mischievous and Micky grinned, eager for any kind of distraction. He slipped out into the hall and Davy began running. “Come on!”

Micky laughed and followed him, not sure why they were running and where they were going, but not caring. An excuse to burn off some energy and move around was enough for him. He was so sick of not being able to go anywhere. Their shoes squeaked on the floor as they ran through the corridors, turning sharp corners, laughing just for the sake of laughing, and then suddenly they were in a wing of the stage. Davy grabbed Micky’s arm and pressed them back into the shadows, placing a finger alongside his lips for quiet. There were still some venue workers bustling around: gruff, Teamster-looking guys who would not take kindly to their turf being invaded and were best to be avoided as they did their pre-show work. Davy, who knew theaters and performance halls like the back of his hand, seemed to find what he was looking for, and pointed to a thin, wrought-iron ladder. They waited until it seemed like they were momentarily alone and then Davy darted to the ladder and nimbly climbed up with minimal noise. Micky tried to do the same, but with less success due to his gangly limbs.

The ladder led to a narrow catwalk that allowed the stage crew access to the lighting rigs. It had railings and felt safe enough, though they both knew they had no business being up there and would probably get in trouble if they got caught. But they were the stars of the show, so how much trouble, really? Davy had seated himself near the end closest to the ladder, keeping them still in the shadows, but perched above the stage with a view of all the action. All the empty seats that would soon be full of screaming girls and agonized parents. Micky sat next to Davy, dangling his legs off the catwalk, resting his hands lower rung of the railing that would prevent both of them from falling to their deaths.

“I just can’t be around those chaps so close to showtime,” said Davy. “They’re doing my head in. And there’s nowhere to go … except here.”

“Here’s good,” said Micky. “Nice view. We’re the bats in the belfry!” He squeaked and flapped his hands like wings, making a silly face that made Davy laugh.

Micky looked down and the stage looked fairly deserted, so he risked singing “And then I saw her face!” projecting his voice and hearing it soar through the rafters and out into the seats. “Oh, man, these acoustics are fab,” he sighed. “I just wish we could hear them when we’re playing.”

Davy chuckled. “You mean you think the shows would be much better if no one came?”

“Sometimes!” Micky said. “I mean … it’s so groovy that they’re excited and they love us, and when I go to shows I’m really excited, but I also really wanna hear the music. I just … wonder what they get out of it. When they can’t hear anything.”

“Oh, they don’t care about that,” said Davy. “They can listen to the records at home. It’s about seeing us ‘in person’ instead of on the telly. Even it’s from one hundred feet away or whatever. And being able to tell people that they did. That’s all it is. And being able to say they saw us playing our instruments. That’s the thrill for them.”

“I guess,” said Micky, swinging his legs and gazing out into the seats. “It’s just weird to me. This whole scene is so weird.” He frowned and sighed.

Davy looked at Micky. “How are you doing, mate? I gotta tell ya, I’ve been a little preoccupied with the bombshell you dropped on me the other night.”

“Aha, the real reason why you brought me up here,” said Micky, chuckling.

“Well, yeah. Hard to get any time alone to talk about anything serious. And you seem a little … upset about what’s going to happen when the tour ends.”

“Yeah,” said Micky, leaning his chin on his folded hands on the lower rung, offering nothing else in response.

Davy sighed. “Can I tell you what I think about all this?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

“Then shoot.”

“You gotta end it when the tour ends, mate,” said Davy, gazing out into the middle distance. “You just have to. It’s … not only one of the guys in the band … it’s the only married guy in the band. If you were a chick I’d say the same thing. You’re getting in the middle of a marriage. A family … and let me tell you, it’s a bad, bad scene when it goes wrong. And it always goes wrong.”

Micky turned to look at Davy. “You have personal experience?”

Davy nodded. “Yeah. I’m not proud of it, either. She was a smashing bird … and it was exciting. All the sneaking around. Making me believe like I gave her something her husband couldn’t or wouldn’t. She made me believe that things were all but over with him, but that wasn’t true. I don’t think she really meant to lie … she was just really unhappy in her life. Even if it were true, it still gets really messy. It’s marriage, man. It’s serious stuff. Legal stuff. So we broke it off and I never saw her again. You can’t do that with Mike. He’s one of us. And what you two are doing … it affects us. All of us. Bob and Bert and everyone on the show.”

“Well, not right now it doesn’t,” said Micky, feeling a little defensive, but also annoyed because Davy was making real sense.

“But it will. And I bet Mike isn’t saying anything about not wanting to be with Phyllis anymore.”

“Of course not. She’s his wife. It’s … he says what we have is separate from that. We’re just … having our own thing right now.”

Davy snorted. “That’s a load of bollocks and you know it. Easy to pretend that right now on the road. When we get home next week … it’ll all be different. Micky, you have to end it. Sounds like Mike is in some serious denial. I think he’s got bigger problems than you know. And … it sounds to me like you’re falling in love with him.”

Micky sat up straight. “In love? No! No, no, Davy. I’m not _in_ love with Mike. I mean, I love him, but I love you, too. And Peter …”

“You definitely do not love me the way you love Mike. And Peter … I don’t know what that is, but it ain’t love. Everyone is a little bit queer for Peter. I mean, look at him. He ain’t got a movie star face, but he’s built like a Da Vinci sculpture. And he’ll shag anyone and anything.”

Micky looked at Davy, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I ain’t blind, y’know!” said Davy defensively. “Just ’cuz he’s nice to look at don’t mean _I_ wanna shag him.”

“Uh-huh, _sure_ ,” said Micky, biting back a laugh.

“Oh, piss off. This ain’t about me, Mick. You have a serious problem here. You need to talk to Mike. And soon.”

“I know,” said Micky miserably. “Fuck, I know … it’s just … there’s still time.”

“Not much, though. And Micky … we all love Phyllis. And Christian. I know you do, too.”

“Of course I do!” said Micky. “They’re both wonderful. You think I don’t feel like shit when I really let myself think about it? How she would feel if she knew … god. It makes me feel like garbage. I just —”

“Keep pretending it’s not a problem,” said Davy. “But it is. And someone needs to remind you of that, sorry to say it has to be me. Peter won’t. He’s all about the Free Love in his mind. Everyone is up for grabs.”

“Literally.” Micky snorted.

“Speaking of which — can’t you do something about those two? They’re self-destructing around each other and I don’t know why. I’m guessing it’s because the end is in sight and they have just lost all patience with each other. They’re polar opposites when it comes to approaching the music. Life. Everything.”

“What do you want _me_ to do?” said Micky. “I’m not their keeper.”

Davy laughed. “But aren’t you? Really, when you think about it? You seem to be the only thing they can agree upon. And even if that’s because they think the sun shines out of your trousers.”

Micky chuckled, weirdly flattered. “Well, who says it doesn’t?”

Davy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m just sayin’ it’s time for a scheme, mate. Get your boys sorted. You say there’s time … use it.”

“Sounds like you’re suggesting I do something … dirty.”

“Filthy, mate. Distract them. They’re both besotted with you. Use that. Just … don’t share the gory details with me. It’s all too fucking weird. But do it for me. For the tour. For our collective sanity.”

Micky laughed, but then sobered, just feeling grateful that there was one person with whom he could talk frankly about what he was feeling.

“You’re a good pal, Davy.”

“I can be when you give me a chance to be. I know I get a little self-centered sometimes, but I’m a bloody actor, what do you expect? Like you don’t know what that’s all about.”

“Oh, yeah. We’re pretty awful people. But that’s why we all hang out with each other. Fuck each other. Marry and divorce each other and marry each other again. No one else can put up with us.”

“Exactly. Innit great?”

Micky laughed. “It’s the fucking best, man.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU BOYS DOIN’ UP THERE!”

Micky and Davy grimaced at each other. “Uh-oh.”

* * *

Two nights later, Micky stormed down the hall of their hotel and banged impatiently on Peter’s door. They were smack dab in the middle of Middle America so he felt reasonably sure that Peter wasn’t hosting some kind of love-in orgy with any friends.

Peter answered the door. “Hey, Micky, what’s … hey!” Micky seized him by the back of the neck.

“You got your room key on you?”

“No!”

“Let’s get it, then.” Micky shoved Peter into the room, where he grabbed his key and shoved it into his pocket.

“Great. Let’s go!” Micky slammed the door behind them and frog-marched Peter down the hall.

“What is going on, Micky?”

“Shut up.”

He went to his room and opened the door and pushed Peter inside, releasing his grip on his neck. Mike, who had been waiting in the room for Micky, looked up sharply, confused. “What the hell are you doin’ here, Pete? I have had it up to here with you this week, I swear. Can’t I go ten minutes without seeing your dopey face?”

“Don’t ask me — he manhandled me down here. It’s not like I wanna be around you, either, you fascist.”

“Fascist! Why you sonuva—”

“Kiss each other.”

Both Peter and Mike looked at Micky, who had climbed onto the bed and was sitting cross-legged, elbows braced on his knees.

“What’s that now?” asked Mike.

“You heard me. I told you to kiss.”

“No way,” said Peter.

“Yeah, man,” said Mike. “Not in the mood to play around right now, Micky. Seriously.”

Micky laughed. “Oh, that’s funny. You think I _asked_ you to kiss. But I didn’t. That’s the hilarious part. I gave you an order and I expect you to do as you’re told. Both of you. Because Mike — I may belong to you, but I _own_ your ass.” To Peter, he said, “I literally owned it the other night. I fucked his brains out and he loved it. I think you might, too. You like being told what to do, don’t you?”

Peter blinked. “Um … sometimes?”

“Sorry, I should have been more specific. I mean in the bedroom. You like being told what to do when it comes to sex. Mike ordered you to get your dick out and he ordered me to blow you and I did it and you loved it.”

Peter blushed a little, and nodded.

“So kiss Mike.”

“But I hate Mike right now.”

“Hey, fuck you, too, man!” Mike retorted. “You goddamn hypocrite. Where’s all your peace, love, and understanding now, huh?”

“But, see, the problem is …” Micky interrupted, yawning. “I don’t give a _fuck_ what either of you two think about it. You’re an actor, Pete. You get paid to pretend to like Mike. It’s part of your actual job. So pretend you wanna kiss him. Mike … pretend you wanna be kissed by Peter. And I will enjoy watching you and giving notes.”

The two men stared at each other, then back at Micky, who smiled serenely. “This is _my_ room. And the rules of the game have always been, if you wanna stay, you gotta play. If you don’t wanna kiss for me, then get the fuck out, but then no one is gettin’ any tonight. And if one of you splits, then the other has to, as well. That’s how this game works.” Then Micky began to slowly unbutton his shirt and looked over at them again. “If you stay and play — and tonight that means doing exactly what I tell you to do — you may get rewarded.”

Mike and Peter turned back to each other. “You gotta admit, he’s hot as hell when he gets bossy like this,” Mike said.

“What was it like when he fucked you?” Peter murmured.

“Un-fucking-believable, man. I still get hard thinking about it, I —”

Micky cleared his throat. “Gentlemen! Is there a problem?”

Peter stepped forward and kissed Mike. Mike was startled, but managed to kiss Peter back.

Micky watched with interest. “Not bad, but it can be better. I don’t buy it yet. Kiss slower, deeper. More tongue. You’re both really good kissers, so this shouldn’t be a stretch. Give me a show. Get me hard.”

That was enough to spur Mike into kissing Peter with a little more gusto. Peter’s tongue stroked into his mouth and his lips were soft and warm and Mike found himself getting a little turned on even though he’d spent most of the week wanting to punch Peter in the mouth rather than kiss it.

“That’s nice, guys, really nice,” said Micky. “Now I want you to touch each other. Mike, I’m sure you’ve always wanted to run your fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter, let him do that, then I want you to kiss Mike’s neck. And then I want your shirts off.”

Mike made a small sound, that seemed to communicate that Micky was pressing his luck, but Micky kept his serene, mild expression and waited for his orders to be carried out.

Mike drew his fingertips up Peter’s jaw while they kissed and ran his fingers through Peter’s fine, soft hair and damned if it didn’t feel like cornsilk. And then Peter was tugging him closer and those soft lips were on his neck and that silky hair along with it. Mike let out a soft moan and his dick got harder. He caught Micky’s eye and Micky licked his upper lip lasciviously. “You two are really fucking hot. Peter, look what you’re doing to Mike. Feel how hard he’s getting. And what about you? Are you getting a stiffie yet? Find out for me, Mike.”

Peter’s mouth was on Mike’s again and Mike shuddered when Peter cupped his hard length through his pants. Likewise, he reached down and found Peter’s cock, hard and hot, through his trousers. Peter groaned into the kiss. Micky smiled, also rubbing his growing erection through his pants. “Very nice. Are you both hard now?

Both Mike and Peter grunted their assent.

“Shirts off now. Chop-chop.”

Mike and Peter looked at each other as they unbuttoned each other’s shirts and pulled them off. Mike made a _What the fuck are we doing?_ face at Peter, who just shrugged and let out a small laugh. And then they were kissing again, unprompted, eliciting a happy “mmmmm” noise from Micky, who enjoyed the sight: Mike, thin and comparatively pale; and Peter, tanned (a tempting slice of pale white skin peeking above the waistband of his pants where his tanline began) and all lean, ropey muscle, wrapped up in each other this way.

“Peter, I’m going to give you a gift now,” said Micky.

Peter and Mike stopped kissing and turned to look at him.

“Mike, down on your knees. You’re going to suck his cock. And then I will have a present for you, if Peter is agreeable.”

Mike looked at Micky, then at Peter, then at Micky again.

“Do it. I did it. Remember you asked me how he tasted? Now you can find out. It’s really good. He has a beautiful cock.”

Peter grinned at Mike. “Oh, really now?”

“Oh, hush,” Mike muttered. He looked back at Micky again, and realized that he shouldn’t expect Micky to do anything that he wouldn’t do himself. With a soft sigh, he lowered himself to his knees and carefully opened Peter’s pants, lowering the zip and pulling out his cock. Mike had only ever given head to Micky and Peter was considerably larger. But he opened his mouth and sucked on the head, getting used to the feel of him in his mouth and proceeded to take him in deeper.

Peter let out a gasping groan and looked down in awe.

Micky grinned. “That’s your gift, Pete. Next time Mike is being a jackass and pissing you off, you’ll have this mental picture. How nice he looks down on his knees and how he can’t say a fucking word to you because his mouth is stuffed full of your huge dick.”

Mike made a noise around Peter’s cock and Micky chuckled. “Yeah, I got you, didn’t I? Hey, Peter, he can take more. Fuck his mouth. He’s tough.”

Peter grunted and flexed his hips, pushing harder into Mike’s mouth. Mike gagged a little, but relaxed and fell into the rhythm.

“Suck him harder, Mike. C’mon. Give it to him. And you’re gonna swallow what he gives you.”

Then Micky climbed off the bed and walked over to Peter. He smiled and traced his fingertip along Peter’s jaw. “You’re so beautiful, Pete. It’s even better watching you get head when I’m not busy giving it to you.”

Peter groaned, nodding.

“I’m gonna ask you this twice. Once now, while you’re a little suggestible. And then again, after you’ve shot your load into Mike’s smart-ass, sonuvabitch mouth.”

“Oh, my …” Peter sighed.

Micky smiled more. “Yeah, it’s hot, right? So I’m gonna ask you now … don’t answer yet, but I wanna fuck your gorgeous ass and I want Mike to watch me do it. I know you’ve haven’t done it before, but I’ll make it so good for you, baby. I promise. You can ask Mike when his mouth is free again.”

Peter opened his mouth, but Micky smacked him lightly on the cheek. “Don’t answer yet. Just think about it. I’ll ask you again pretty soon.”

Micky stroked Mike’s head and back of his neck as he returned to his perch on the bed. “Yeah, you heard me. I have something I think I can show you. If Pete’s into it.”

Mike hummed around Peter’s cock and Peter let out a groaning cry. “Oh … I’m … Mike …” His knees buckled for a moment, but held firm as he came, and Micky watched Mike swallow him down.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Micky cooed, clapping his hands. “You did so good, Mike. C’mere and let me finish you off. You’ve earned it. Pete, hop up on the bed and have a rest. This is just round one.”

Peter kicked off his pants and clambered onto the bed, laying on his side, breathing hard, contented, his eyelids fluttering. Mike stood slowly, staring Micky down, a small, dangerous smile playing over his full lips.

Micky just smiled. “Pants off, babe. Sit down over here, back against the headboard. I think it’s gonna be the best seat in the house.”

Mike shook his head, chuckling softly. “Kid, you are playing with fire.” But he did as he was told and sat on the bed, resting his back against the headboard, then groaned softly as Micky moved between his legs and took his hard dick deep into his mouth.

Peter’s eyes opened and he smiled lazily. “Outtasight.”

“Oh, fuck,” Mike groaned, threading his fingers through Micky’s curls, hips twitching as Micky sucked him long and hard. He could feel Peter’s eyes on them and it somehow turned him on even more.

And then Peter shifted closer and began to run his hand over Micky’s bare chest, over his clothed crotch and then back up to play with his nipples. Micky whimpered around Mike’s cock. Peter moved in closer and Mike was about to tell him to fuck off, but something held him back. Peter moved in and when Micky slid his mouth to the tip of Mike’s cock, Peter captured it in a kiss. Micky made a dazed, surprised sound, but kissed him back, licking into Peter’s mouth, while their lips brushed against Mike’s cock. Mike groaned, torn between feeling irritated that Peter was horning in on his action with Micky and curious about what was happening … _oh_.

Because then Micky’s mouth sucked him in again and Peter was licking his shaft at the base and underside and then they were licking his cock together, and Mike made a high-pitched _what the fuck_ sound at the sight of two mouths working over him, but then he fisted his hand into Peter’s silky blond hair and groaned. “You motherfuckers … you twisted, gorgeous motherfuckers …”

Peter chuckled, his breath hot against Mike’s balls and Micky hummed around his shaft and Mike didn’t know how he could feel so horny and turned on and so flabbergasted and still so irritated with Peter Tork all at the same time. But all of it served to rile him up and he shuddered as he felt his orgasm building. “Fuck … I’m gonna … I’m …” he groaned.

Peter placed a tender kiss on his shaft and then withdrew, leaving Micky to finish Mike off on his own. “This is your show, baby. I just wanted a taste.”

Micky moaned around Mike’s cock and moved his head faster, sucking him hard and Mike let out a shuddering cry as he came, shooting into Micky’s mouth, who swallowed him down before letting Mike slip from his mouth.

There was quite for a few moments as they tried to recover their wits. But then Micky reached down to stroke Peter’s hair gently, his voice quiet and seductive. “Going to ask you for the second time, Peter. Are you going to let me fuck your sweet ass while Mike watches? I’ll be gentle … at first. Until you get used to it. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Okay, Micky,” Peter said, looking up at his friend guilelessly, smiling softly. “I trust you. I want to experience it. With you.”

Mike watched, somewhat astonished and wondering what Micky was getting at exactly. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Micky screwing another guy, even if it was Peter, their bedroom plaything. But Mike also trusted Micky and decided to let things play out.

* * *

“Fuck! Fucking shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh my … fuck!” Peter was yelling as Micky thrust into him again and again and again, having found the angle to hit his prostate and make the gentle hippie curse like a trucker. Micky dug his fingers into Peter’s hips, watching his cock moving in and out of Peter, his firm, toned ass comically pale compared to the rest of his tanned body, almost giving the impression that he was wearing white swimming trunks. He had Peter on his hands and knees and, after much extended foreplay to prepare him for penetration, Micky was able to move as hard as he liked and Peter … definitely liked it.

Micky looked up and met Mike’s eyes, smiling mischievously. “Not so serene now, huh?” he said. “That’s your gift. Watching me break Peter open.” He gave Peter a stinging swat on the ass. “You like it, huh, Pete?

“Fuck you … oh god … Micky … fuck me …”

“Gladly, Big Peter. Oh, you’re so fucking good.” Micky groaned and took Peter even harder and faster. He watched Mike, whose eyes were fixed on the two of them. He’d gotten hard again as soon as Micky had entered Peter and now he was jerking himself off, pumping his cock swiftly, legs splayed open shamelessly, moaning as he watched. Peter’s head hung down and his fine blond hair swung like a curtain of fringe with every thrust of Micky’s hips.

Micky reached down to fist Peter’s hard, leaking cock, causing the blond to let out a shuddering moan. “Micky … I wanna come … can I come …”

“Soon,” Micky panted. “I promise, Big Peter. But Mike needs to come first.”

Mike, only half lucid at his point, lifted his head and looked at Micky at the sound of his name. “Huh?”

“You’re going to finish in Peter’s mouth.”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter gasped.

“Uh-huh. You’re going to come in his mouth and I’m going to come in his ass and then he’s going to come all over himself. Like the filthy, beautiful boy he is. He comes to play with us because all those gorgeous hippie girls can’t really give him this. You were made for sex and you’ve never been used as properly as you need to be until now. On your hands and knees, fucked from both ends.”

Peter whimpered, trembling with desire and need.

Mike was slack-jawed, but looked at Mike with an expression that was a mix of awe and confusion. This was not the Micky he normally knew, but he liked it. Still pumping his cock, he shakily got up on his knees and moved closer to Peter’s head.

Peter lifted his head and met Mike’s eyes. They stared at each other, both awed and completely lost to the moment. Peter opened his mouth and let Mike slide his cock inside. Mike groaned at the wet heat and Peter’s tongue stroking him. He grabbed two fistfuls of Peter’s fine, blond hair and fucked his mouth, looking Micky in the eye as he did so. Micky smiled and mouthed _I love you_.

Seeing as he said it while he was pounding his cock into Peter’s ass made it obscene and inexplicably sexy, and Mike cried out, his entire body shuddering as he came, shooting hard into Peter’s mouth. Peter tried to swallow as best he could, but he choked a little on the huge cock shoved so far into his mouth, and some of it dripped from the corners of his mouth.

Micky let out a deep groan at the sight, watching Mike pull out of Peter’s mouth and collapse back against the headboard. Micky pumped Peter’s cock harder, thrusting hard inside him. “I need you to come now, Peter.” Micky squeezed his cock roughly and thrust in as deeply as possible.

Peter’s arms gave out and he fell to his elbows, forcing his ass up in the air as he came, letting out a choked, sobbing moan as he shook apart, his muscles clenching around Micky and taking him over the edge as well, hips bucking hard as he came inside Peter. Mike just watched, dazed.

Micky slumped over Peter’s back, feeling the warmth and perspiration coming off his skin. But then Peter groaned. “Micky … Micky … don’t … I … can’t …”

Micky felt Peter’s knees beginning to buckle and he raised himself up with a groan and gently pulled out, watching his semen dripping out of Peter’s stretched hole and then falling onto his back as Peter collapsed onto his side. All was quiet save for their panting breaths.

Micky’s head began to clear and his first thought was to check on Peter. He rolled onto his side and spooned up behind him, reaching over to wipe a trace of Mike’s come from the corner of his mouth with his thumb and sucking it into his own mouth. He kissed the back of Peter’s neck and stroked his hand gently over his still-shuddering torso. “You all right, Big Peter? You were so good. So fucking good. I hope I wasn’t too rough.”

Peter made a soft sound and pressed up against Micky’s body, relaxing at the gentle touches and words. “I’m okay … it was … intense. But it was … good. Incredible. I … I had no idea …”

“Not gonna lie, you’ll be sore tomorrow. I was walking funny for two days after Mike did me for the first time. Was this close to strapping a pillow to the stool for my drum kit. But it passes. And Vaseline is good for soreness … there. Y’know.”

“Thanks, Micky.”

Mike grunted and pushed himself off the headboard to curl up in the opposite direction, his head down by Peter’s stomach, long legs folded up by the headboard. Micky reached over Peter for his hand and Mike took it, threading their fingers together.

Micky rested his forehead against the back of Peter’s neck, feeling the soft blond hair soothing his heated face. “You two really need to get it together, okay? We’re so close to the end of the tour and it really kills me and Davy when you two are fighting all the time. Please … just be cool. Promise me.”

“Good lord, was that was _this_ was all about?” Mike said softly.

“Pretty much. It was Davy’s idea.”

“… say what now?”

Peter chuckled roughly. “The Manchester Cowboy never ceases to surprise.”

“No … not … _this_ ,” Micky laughed, exasperated. “No, this whole scheme came from the murky depths of my perverted imagination. Davy just told me to get you two … ‘sorted.’”

“Huh, well consider us sorted, then,” Mike grunted. “Sorted six ways to Sunday.”

“I’m sorted for the foreseeable future,” said Peter. “And I have a new respect for and healthy fear of your perverted imagination.”

“That’s one thing we can agree on, shotgun,” said Mike. “Mick … you are a nasty, filthy little degenerate.”

“But you still dig me, right?”

“On the contrary … I love you even more, kid.”

Peter smiled. “You are inspiring.”

“Well, good. Because this was, frankly, exhausting. I’m going to go to sleep now. You are all welcome to stay.”

“I don’t think any of us can move for a while, kid.”

“Um, but what did it mean when Micky said he wanted Mike to watch him break me?”

“Oh, that,” said Mike. “Just that … we wanted to see what it would take to get you to drop the zen and get to cursing like a sailor in the sack.”

“Well, Jesus fucking Christ, you could have fucking asked me that, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, see, that just sounds wrong when you’re not getting fucked within an inch of yer life,” Mike drawled.

“Heh, I guess you’re right.”

“What do you think, Mick?”

“Micky?”

There was silence except the quiet sound of Micky’s sleeping breath.

“Kid’s down for the count, Pete. I’ll get the light.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I can move yet.”

* * *

And then, before they knew it, it was the last overnight stay before the last show and the end of the tour. One last night before they could all go home to their own houses and beds and somehow transform back into a TV cast after two hundred shows of being a legitimate touring rock band.

Mike and Micky tried to make the best of it. They drank expensive champagne in bed and smoked some of Peter’s best grass, Micky teaching Mike how to blow a hit into another person’s mouth. And they had sex. As much as their bodies could physically handle. Any thoughts of sleeping had already been discarded. The last show would be what it was and there would be a huge party afterwards regardless.

But finally Micky had to bring up the elephant in the room. It was ruining his stone and his enjoyment of his last time being naked in bed with his guitar player.

“I just wanted to say … this has been a total groove, Mike. Being with you like this during the tour. I’m … gonna miss this a lot.”

Mike, who had been lying flat on his back, taking a breather after their latest round, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his pale, narrow torso, turned his head to look at Micky for a long moment.

“Gonna miss … you mean you really want this to be over … starting _tomorrow_?”

“Well, isn’t that what we always said? This … arrangement was for the tour.”

“I don’t think we ever really officially said that,” mumbled Mike, rolling onto his side to face Micky, suddenly looking very upset.

“What else can we do, Mike? It’s one thing … it’s … it’s bad enough we’re doing this, but if we start sneaking around at home? Then we’re just garden variety adulterers.”

“Naw … naw …” said Mike, stubbornly, shaking his head. “It ain’t like that. That’s what it would be like if I was sneaking around with another girl behind Phyllis’s back. You and me? It’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is!” Mike snapped, his eyes turning dark and fierce. “And I … don’t accept that it needs to end. At least not right now. Not tonight. We’ll go home after tour and spend some time apart before shooting resumes. I’ll be with Phyllis and Christian and you can reconnect with your people, and then we’ll revisit it then, okay?”

Micky shook his head. “I dunno, Mike. I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’re going to make a mistake. We’re going to get caught and someone will get hurt.”

“You said someone always gets hurt.”

“I was more hoping it would be one of us rather than one of our loved ones.”

“It won’t be like that.”

“You can’t predict that, Mike. I just … Davy said …”

“What the hell does Davy have to do with us, huh?”

“He’s just worried. He had a lot of smart things to say about this stuff. Why we need to stop.”

Mike shifted closer to Micky and slipped an arm around his waist. “I don’t see Davy Jones in this bed with us,” he said in a low, husky tone that he knew always turned Micky on.

“Well, thank god, because at this point we’re just one Monkee short of a full-on orgy. I don’t think we need to collect the whole set.”

Mike brushed a kiss over Micky’s lips. “It’s just us, kid. No more of that foolishness with Peter. He’ll have all his playmates waiting eagerly for him at home.” He kissed Micky again and felt a sense of hope when Micky made a soft, longing sound. “It’ll be just us. We’ll figure something out. Just … don’t end us tonight. I couldn’t take it, kid. Just say it ain’t over yet.”

Micky opened his mouth to speak, but Mike kept kissing him and his hands were on his body, petting and stroking him in all right places. And then Mike was kissing his neck and playing with his nipples and Micky moaned shamelessly, rocking his hips up against Mike’s and feeling how hard they both were yet again.

Micky’s resolve disintegrated like ash in the wind. “Okay, Mike,” he moaned, wrapping his hand around both of their erections and beginning to stroke them together. “Okay, whatever you say.”

And then Mike’s tongue was back in his mouth and Mike was spreading his legs open and Micky forgot about anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all falls apart. It was always going to, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last train to Clarksville has left Smutville and the next stop is Dramatown.
> 
> CW: Period-specific homophobic language.

The tour ended, they arrived home in California and there were just a few days off until they had to start shooting again. Micky filled his time very easily in visiting his family, doing his laundry (taking his laundry home to his family so his mother would do it for him), seeing a few friends, hitting up a few parties, and finding a cute girl to take home to bed. No time like the present to turn over a new — old? — leaf. It was fine. More than fine, but whereas before he’d been happy to drive the girl back to her place and go home to sleep on his own, it didn’t feel the same now. He told himself it was okay. He’d get used to it. Weeks of “sleepovers” with Mike just had him not used to bunking alone anymore. He’d get used to it. All of it.

He didn’t know where things stood with Mike, anyway. He’d spent the last few days torn between kicking himself over caving in to Mike’s coercion and feeling relieved that it wasn’t over. That somehow they could continue on … but as what? As nothing. But when Micky imagined never being able to sleep with Mike again it made his stomach hurt. It was like he had become a junkie and needed his fix. And that scared him.

What scared him worse was that Mike felt the same way, only he wasn’t being nearly as rational about it as Micky. Sometimes, when Mike was under too much pressure, he tended to spin out. And if that was happening, then maybe Mike wasn’t capable of making the hard, proper decisions right now.

But there was nothing he could do about it right now. Micky just enjoyed the peace and quiet of his house, worked on the new scripts, and figured something would get figured out when season 2 of the Monkees began production on Monday.

* * *

The shoot was not going well. They couldn’t get the lighting right and there were more technical difficulties than usual. The Monkees themselves were having trouble adjusting back to their TV schedule after a wild summer of touring. What had once seemed fun was becoming tedious and they were already squabbling. Micky got tired of it and wandered off to an unused part of the set — the bedroom — to get some peace and read _I, Robot_ for probably the two hundredth time. It was his favourite and he practically had the dog-earred paperback committed to memory, but he just liked to reread it once or twice a year. Plus he needed to get away from Mike. Mike had been eyeing him all day and it was making Micky crazy. They still hadn’t talked about where they stood now, but the last thing Micky needed was to try shooting a scene with a hard-on. The trousers they were forced to wear for their costumes didn’t leave much to the imagination in that regard.

He was fully lost in the book, worrying his lower lip between his teeth when he was startled by a low voice purring in his ear. “Been lookin’ all over for you.”

“Oh, hey, Mike. I … whoah!”

Mike grabbed Micky’s arm and hauled him off the bed and off into a dark corner of the set. He turned Micky around to face away from him and rocked his hips up against Micky’s ass, letting him feel Mike’s erection.

“Oh god,” Micky groaned.

“I’m losin’ my damn mind,” Mike murmured. “I gotta have you and I’m gonna have you. Right now.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Micky hissed. “We’re on set, man!”

“I don’t care,” said Mike, opening his belt buckle and unbuttoning his trousers. “It’s all going to hell over there, anyway. Jim’s tearing his hair out. Davy’s having a tantrum. No one’s over here.”

He reached around to open Micky’s pants and Micky slapped his hands away. “Mike, this is crazy. Maybe we could go to your dressing room or somethin’, huh?”

“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” Mike purred, persisting until Micky stopped slapping his hands away and opened up his trousers.

“Mike,” Micky whined softly. “I don’t think we should … oh god.” As Mike had tugged down his pants and underwear enough to rub his cock against Micky’s ass.

He heard the sound of a bottle open and the wet sounds of Mike slicking himself up.

“You came prepared. You crazy motherfucker,” Micky sighed. “It’s almost like you _want_ us to get caught.”

“I just want you, Mick,” Mike murmured. “Just you.” And he put a hand over Micky’s mouth to muffle his cry as Mike pushed hard into him.

Oh, god. They were doing this. They were screwing on set. Micky could hear Jim’s voice across the room. He was terrified. But also so turned on and preoccupied with Mike’s hot breath panting near his ear as he fucked Micky hard and fast. He reached around and rubbed Micky’s cock through his trousers. “Now, I’ll look after you when I’m done, okay? Don’t go and come in your pants like a teenager. How will you explain that to wardrobe, huh?”

“Oh, god,” Micky moaned, bracing his hands against the wall as Mike thrust into him over and over. This was so wrong, but he’d missed this.

What they both also missed was Fred, one of the set dressers, on his way to inspect the bedroom set for the next shoot and stopping dead in his tracks. He squinted, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing, then cursed softly under this breath and hurried away before he was noticed. 

Mike slammed hard into Micky twice more and then let out a stifled groan as he came. He pressed a kiss to Micky’s neck then pulled out and zipped himself up. Micky pulled up his pants to cover his bare ass, but then Mike, after looking around quickly to make sure they were still unnoticed, went down on his knees, pulling Micky’s cock out and sucking it into his mouth. Micky bit back a groan and felt his knees turn to jelly as Mike sucked him just as aggressively as he’d fucked Micky just moments earlier. It felt incredible, but the feeling was tempered by the white-hot fear of getting caught and when Micky came he was relieved more than anything.

Mike licked his lips and got back to his feet as Micky quickly tucked himself back in his shorts and zipped up his pants. Then he swatted Mike on the arm, crossly.

“That was too much, man. Too big of a risk. I don’t want to do that again.”

Mike chuckled. “Since when did you get so square, kid?”

“Since when did you _stop_ being so square, Mike? You’re acting kinda crazy.”

“Crazy? You want crazy? Crazy is going out on the road with a band that isn’t really a band, except for on television and the guys in the band have our names, but they’re not us. Except when we’re playing live and then they are. And I got a wife and kid at home, but all I can think about is bein’ with you, man. And that is makin’ me crazy. So yeah … maybe I am crazy!”

Micky looked at Mike, speechless. “Mikey … I …”

“Micky and Mike! ON SET NOW, PLEASE!”

Micky threw his arms up. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. We’ll have to talk about this later.”

“Yeah, like talkin’ is gonna do any good.” Mike adjusted his hat and followed Micky back to confer with Jim Frawley before shooting the next scene.

* * *

Shooting finally wrapped for the day and everyone sighed with relief and started bustling about, collecting their things to leave. Micky stepped off the set and saw Bob Rafelson striding toward them. “Hey, Bob,” Micky said, smiling. “What’d ya think?”

Bob grinned. “Beautiful, baby, beautiful. So good to have you all back on set. But listen, Mick … and you! Nishwash!” He called out to Mike — using a nickname, a humorous mispronunciation of Nesmith that had come out of a script from last season and stuck — who was trying to make a quick getaway.

“Yeah, Bob?”

“I need to speak to you two for a sec in my office. But I gotta take a quick call first. Just cool out and wait until I’m done, okay? Sorry about this — won’t take long! Groovy, thanks, babes.” Bob turned around and headed back to his office before waiting for either Micky or Mike to reply.

“Oh-ho, someone’s staying after school to talk to the principal!” joked Jack, one of the cameramen.

“Hey, can it, okay?” said Mike. “It’s no big deal. Mick and I had some questions for Bob and he didn’t have time to talk to us earlier.”

Micky’s brow started to furrow and then Mike flashed a look at him, and he played along. “Yeah, man. It’s been a crazy day, first day back n’all. Have a good night, Jack.”

“All right, fellas. Hope he doesn’t make you write lines or clean the chalk erasers!” Jack snorted, shrugging into his coat and lighting a cigarette as he walked away.

Micky settled into a chair on the edge of the set and Mike sat down next to him. They were quiet as they watched the set slowly empty of people.

“Fuck,” Micky whispered. “We’re busted.”

Mike looked at him. “Hey, it’s probably nothing, okay? Keep cool.”

“Keep cool? You know what he’s doing — he doesn’t have a fucking phone call to take. He’s cooling his heels in his office until everyone else is gone and then he’s going to read us the riot act. If we’re lucky. If we don’t get fired first.”

“First of all, it’s not what you think it is. And second, even if it is, he ain’t gonna fire us, man! One episode into the new season of his Emmy-winning show, and he’s gonna fire half the principal cast? There would be rioting children in the streets. Hell, no. Stop being paranoid.”

Micky shook his head. “You’re not being paranoid enough — the one time you oughta be.”

“Well, then just stop talking until he’s ready for us, okay? You’re makin’ me nervous.”

Micky let out a humorless laugh, but said nothing further. They waited in tense silence until the set was completely clear. And then they heard Bob’s door open.

“Okay, guys. I’m ready for you now.”

* * *

Mike entered first and Micky filed in behind him. Bob sat behind his desk, face devoid of his earlier friendly cheer. “Shut the door, Micky.”

Micky grimaced and closed the door before settling into a chair next to Mike.

Bob folded his hands on the desk and looked at them gravely. “I’m gonna tell you something I heard, and I want you to tell me it’s not true.”

“It’s not true,” said Mike automatically.

“Lies, scurvy lies!” Micky riffed nervously, holding up a finger.

“So when Fred came and told me he saw Mike screwing Micky up the ass on set — albeit a part of the set not scheduled for this episode — _in the middle of a shoot_ , it’s a lie, right? Tell me it’s a lie. I love Fred, but I want to call him a fucking liar right now. Please tell me I can.”

Mike and Micky fell silent. Bob’s crude description of what they had done took the wind out of their sails before they could properly deny anything.

“Now Bob, look —” said Mike.

“No, Mike. No. I don’t want to hear it,” said Bob, cutting him off. “I don’t want to know. But it matches up with some reports I was getting from the road about how you two essentially shacked up together for the last six weeks or so of the tour. Barely even trying to hide it.”

“Just waitaminute there,” Mike retorted. “Whose business is it anyway, when we’re not on stage? Spyin’ on us like sneaks and —”

“It’s my goddamn business!” snapped Bob.

Mike scowled. Micky was silent and miserable.

“It’s my goddamn business,” Bob repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “It’s my show. You two are playing with fire with my show and I won’t have it. You can do whatever the fuck you want in the privacy of your own homes, but I have a feeling that isn’t an option for you, is it, Mike?”

Mike glared at Bob, then gave his head a small, negative shake.

“You wanted to be a real band, guys. You fought like hell for it and Bert went to bat for you, and I respect you all for it. But guess what, that makes you a real band now. But a band with an image that directly affects our bottom line. You don’t stop being a Monkee when you leave the lot. You’re a Monkee when you’re out on the street, you’re a Monkee when you’re out getting shit-faced at a club, you’re a Monkee when you’re fucking your way across the U.S.A. on the label’s dime. You’re a Monkee all the goddamn time unless you’re at home. And then you can be … whatever it is you wanna be. Unless your wife doesn’t know that you like to nail your drummer in your spare time.”

If Mike could have set Bob’s desk on fire with the force of his glare, it would have ignited. Micky shrank in his seat, cheeks flushed, mortified.

“And, unlike with a normal band, it’s not just you and your label who have anything to lose. It’s all of us. The entire crew. The studio. I don’t know what is going on between you two, and I don’t want to know. But it stops here and now. Honestly, you couldn’t even take it to one of your dressing rooms? Huh? What if you’d ended up near a hot mic? Or a camera caught you two playing grab-ass and it showed up in the dailies and the wrong person saw it? If any of this ever got out … we’re all fucked. You especially … would be fucked, and not in the fun way that you two are apparently enjoying. What do you think Phyllis would make of that, Mike? Think you’re gonna be a hot-shit producer if this ended up in the gossip rags before you’ve made your mark? Huh? Micky, think there will be any cute-guy romantic roles for you if the public even got a whiff of an idea that you take it up the ass?”

Mike’s face flushed with anger and shame. He looked up to Bob and Bert a great deal and this was completely humiliating. Micky looked like he was about to cry.

Bob lit a cigarette. “I love you cats. You know I do. But I have to be the bad guy here. I lost the fucking coin-toss with Bert — who doesn’t even want to look at you right now, by the way. You are making me be the heavy and I resent you for it. This isn’t brain surgery. I’m not here to moralize on homosexual behavior. I don’t give a fuck. Lots of guys like to fuck guys in Hollywood. Some chicks like to fuck other chicks.” He paused, taking a breath, then yelled, “BUT NOT ON MY FUCKING SET!” He pounded his fist on the desk for emphasis.

Mike flinched. Micky started to cry.

Bob was unmoved. “Get your shit together. Tour’s over. Whatever little set-up you guys had on the road — it’s over. You know it has to be over. There is too much at stake here. I have to protect the show. And apparently protect you from yourselves. Mike, go home to your wife. We’ll set up more photo ops of you being Mr. Family Man for the teen rags. They eat that shit up. Micky, go out and drown in a sea of pussy. You are twenty-two years old, you’re good-looking and rich and famous and everyone wants a piece of you. Clearly even Mike does. It is never going to get any better than this for you. The road is a wild, claustrophobic place. You’re back in the real world now. At least as real as it gets in L.A. And if you decide to go against me and carry on anyway, you better keep it far away from here. And hope to hell you don’t get caught by the wrong people. Because unless PR can spin the prettiest tale we’ve ever seen, it’s all fucking over. And that’s on you. I never want to hear about this ever again. And I don’t want to talk to you about this ever again. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Mike opened his mouth and Bob pointed his cigarette-holding hand at him. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Mike. Let well enough alone for once. Stop blubbering, Micky. I still love you, babe. Why do you make me be mean to you? What else do you expect me to do? I hate this as much as you do. But get the fuck out and shut the door behind you.”

Micky and Mike stood up and walked out of the office. Micky flinched when Mike slammed the door behind them. He felt completely humiliated — over getting caught, getting bawled out, the ugly insinuations Bob had made about him, and then crying about it in front of him. Despite all the on-set clowning with his castmates, Micky considered himself a seasoned professional and he wasn’t used to this particular style of dressing-down. Especially not from someone like Bob. And worse, because Bob was right. He was absolutely right and they both knew it. They’d behaved utterly irresponsibly. And not in the “good” way they’d been encouraged to with their antics.

Micky took a shaky breath and wiped at his face with the heels of his hands, looking at Mike. Mike just shook his head and looked at Micky with something that resembled thinly veiled disgust, and he turned and walked away. 

“Where are you going?” he called out, feeling pathetic. 

Mike threw up a dismissive hand and kicked a chair out of the way as he stormed off the empty set. Micky stared miserably after him, then shook his head and headed out to his car. For the first time, he realized how vulnerable he truly was. When he’d been cast on the show, Bob and Bert had convinced him to fire his agent, promising him they’d look after him. But now he just felt like he was powerless and there was no one to defend him when his so-called caretakers turned nasty. Not even Mike had uttered a word in his defence.

* * *

Micky was home alone and drowning his sorrows when there was a sharp knock at the door. He put down his beer and shuffled to the door, looking out the small window to see Mike standing on the other side. He opened the door and they stared at each other for a few moments before Micky stepped back and gestured him inside.

Mike entered the vestibule, hands on his hips. “I can’t believe we’re back doing this again.”

“At least you’re the one who stormed off this time.” Micky shut and locked the door behind them.

“I had to, Mick. I couldn’t be on that damn set for another second before I started ripping stuff apart with my bare hands.”

“Including me?”

Mike pressed his lips together. “Maybe. A little. In the moment. You just … sat there, man. Not a fucking word out of you. And then you started crying like a little …”

“Faggot?”

Mike looked at him, then looked away. “You said it, not me,” he muttered.

“There was nothing to say, Mike. Not a damn thing. You didn’t say anything, either.” He shuffled off into the interior of the house, leaving Mike to follow him. “Getting angry about it wasn’t going to change anything. We fucked up. We fucked up huge and we should just accept it. You want a beer?”

Mike’s nostrils flared, but he nodded curtly. “Yeah.”

Micky opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle, making eye contact with Mike to ensure he was watching before tossing it to him. Mike caught it with one hand and the bottle opener with the other.

Micky nodded at the churchkey as Mike used it to pry off the cap. “Always thought you would know how to get that off with your teeth, Texas.”

“How do you know I don’t? Have you seen my teeth, kid? Ten kinds of messed up. But now I’m a big-time tee-vee star, so I guess I gotta be fancy.” Mike flipped the cap up high and it landed in the sink with a clatter. He took a long pull on the beer, a deep breath, and then another, emptying nearly half the bottle.

“I know why you’re here,” Micky said dully.

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”

“We need to end this. Now. While the only ones who will get hurt will be us.”

Mike nodded. “Yup. That’s about the size of it.”

Micky closed his eyes for a few moments, feeling them well up again.

Mike looked at him and seemed to wrestle with something inside him before he put down his beer and crossed the room, gently pulling Micky into an embrace.

Micky let out a hiccupping sob and wrapped his arms around Mike. “Fuck … I’m sorry, man. I don’t know why I’m being like this. Maybe I really am a faggot.”

“You’re not, you’re not,” Mike murmured, holding Micky protectively. “It’s a mean and nasty word and you’re not that. And I … didn’t mean to imply that. I was just so fucking mad during that meeting. I know we were stupid to mess around on set and let our goddamn dicks do our thinking for us. But how dare they monitor us on the road. What the hell right does anyone have to judge us for what we do when we’re alone together! And the way he talked to you … just because you were the one getting fucked. It was my stupid idea. And you’re right. I didn’t say a damn thing. I should have. We were in it together. I’ve let you do me. I … I’m just as much as whatever it is he said you are.”

Micky rested his cheek on Mike’s shoulder, breathing in his scent and suddenly feeling very, very tired. “No, you shouldn’t have said anything. You know why. We’re basically property, man. We signed up for this. There’s no room in that for privacy like regular people. And you said it yourself … guys who only get with guys can’t have a regular life. We’re back in the regular world now and we don’t make the rules.”

“No, we sure don’t.” Mike petted Micky’s hair, then cradled the back of his neck in his hand. “We just gotta quit this cold turkey. It’ll get easier eventually.”

“How? We have to see each other every day, Mike. How can we … how did we let this happen? We got in way too deep.”

“We did. But I don’t see any other way it could have played out apart from just never dropping those crazy drugs that night. But … Mick, you kept me sane on the road. I don’t know if I coulda done it without you. Without you being with me the way you were.”

Micky stepped back from the embrace so he could look at Mike, but stayed close, needing to touch him. “What about the next time we tour?”

Mike shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I guess. If we get to it. But for now … we gotta get normal again. I have to try to be the man I’m supposed to be instead of the man I want to be.”

“What does that mean?” said Micky, looking hard at Mike.

“I mean, I made some choices a long time ago and I did the honorable thing and I need to try to stick to that. Not be some wild man … playing perverted sex games with his own bandmates. Just doing what my dick tells me to do.”

Micky’s mouth quirked up on one side in a crooked smile. “But I like it when you listen to your dick. I like it when you’re free.”

“But I’m not free, Mick. That’s the point. I was pretending. But back here, in L.A., I have a wife and a kid and they deserve better than … than the guy who spent a couple months literally phoning it in. I love ’em so much, don’t get me wrong. But … dang, we were just way too young for all this, Micky. Phyllis was seventeen … seventeen! I was just twenty-one. I was a man, but awful young to get tied down. But we didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t gonna leave her in the lurch. I wouldn’t do that to her. She’s my girl. I promised I’d take care of her and Christian, even though I didn’t know the first thing about how to be a husband and a father. I … still don’t. You know I love you, Micky. That ain’t gonna change. But we have to just stop with this. Before it’s too late. We knew this was gonna happen. You tried … you tried to tell me this. And I wouldn’t listen. I shoulda listened. But I just … didn’t wanna stop.”

“I know,” said Micky miserably. “I didn’t expect to … need it all so much.”

“We don’t need it, we just think we do,” said Mike. “It’s become a habit. You’ll … meet a great girl and maybe you’ll get married, too. And you won’t be able to remember what life was like without her.”

“And forget all about you?”

“Aw, Mick, I ain’t ever gonna forget about this. It’s been … a wild experience. It’s been … an adventure. And just knowing I can trust you. You’re my good pal. And I love you. That part won’t change.”

“I love you, too, man,” Micky whispered.

Mike paused for a long moment, then looked at Micky and asked, quietly, “D’you … think maybe we could … one last time?”

Micky’s eyes teared up again and he smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, Mike. We do it once here and then you’ll wanna start showing up again and again and I won’t be strong enough to turn you away. I started this … it’s on me to end it. You said I belonged to you until I decided I didn’t anymore. I’m walking away, Mike. I’m walking away because I have to. I can’t be responsible for blowing up your life … your family. Next time we get caught will probably do that.”

Mike swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Yeah … I’ll probably do that all on my own.”

“I really hope not.” Micky pulled Mike into a fierce hug. “And this better not mean you’re gonna ignore me on set. I couldn’t take that, you know.”

“Mick, you gave me the silent treatment for almost five whole days and I nearly lost my goddamned mind,” said Mike, clutching Micky back. “I couldn’t ignore you if I tried. I would never want to.”

Micky nodded and took a deep breath, trying his best to collect himself. He pulled back, caught Mike’s jaw in his hand and kissed him firmly, one last time. “You have to go now.”

Mike looked at him, mouth trembling. “Micky …”

“You have to go now!” said Micky sharply. “Please! Don’t make this any harder, Mike. Just go!”

Mike’s hands balled into fists and he let out a frustrated noise and he futilely hit the kitchen counter before turning on his heel and walking away. Micky stayed where he was until he heard the door slam. He waited until he heard Mike’s car start up and pull away until he let himself sink down to the floor and burst into tears, holding his head in his hands.

* * *

Mike made it three blocks from the house before he had to pull over to cry, resting his forehead on the steering wheel, his body shaking.

* * *

It was awkward for a while. Really awkward. They tried not to let it be, but Micky and Mike were grieving their loss and it was painful to be around one another. Mike started missing filming, leaving the writers scrambling to rewrite the episode for the trio of Monkees and, honestly, Micky was relieved. Later he missed more after claiming a need to undergo a tonsillectomy. Micky didn’t question it, but it seemed rather convenient.

Micky was in his dressing room, studying a script when there was a gentle knock at the door. “Who is it?” he called out.

“It’s Peter.”

“Come in.”

Peter opened the door and closed it behind him. “Hey, Micky.”

“Hi, Pete. What’s up?”

“Micky, what happened? With you and Michael?”

Micky looked up at Peter and saw the pained concern on his face. Micky shrugged. “We ended it. It was time. It was only ever supposed to be for the tour. We got caught messing around on set and Bob blew his stack.”

“Oh, Micky …” said Peter softly.

“It’s fine, Pete, really,” said Micky. “I’m not a queer. That’s not me. Mike was just … a distraction.”

“And what about me? Was I a distraction, too?”

“Aw, Pete. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do.” Peter stepped closer to Micky and gently touched his face.

Micky flinched. Peter’s relentless compassion was killing him.

“Don’t, Pete,” he whispered. “Just don’t.”

“You’re not okay, Micky. What can I do?”

“Just … stop being so fucking nice to me!” Micky snapped, as tears began to run down his cheeks. “It’s easier when I pretend that everything is fine. And eventually it will be. But until then I gotta pretend, okay? Otherwise I’ll never get through this. It’s the role of a fucking lifetime.”

Peter sat in the chair next to Micky and leaned in, pulling him into a hug.

“Goddammit, Peter,” Micky wept, giving in finally and letting Peter hold him.

“You can have me,” Peter said softly. “I know it’s not the same, but … you can.”

Micky pulled back to look at him and Peter gently wiped some tears away from his cheek.

“You mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. If it helps you.”

“You deserve better than that, Pete. Someone who really loves you.”

“Oh, I have so much love to share, Micky,” Peter said, smiling. “And I get so much back. Don’t worry about that.”

“I envy you sometimes, man.”

“You can be part of the love, too, brother. It’s easy. Just open your heart and your mind.”

“I don’t think I can do that right now. I think … I need to meet a nice girl. Stop screwing around so much.”

Peter shook his head a little sadly. “Well, you know how I feel about that. But I just want you to be happy, Micky. I’m here for you if you need me. In whatever way you need me.”

He kissed Micky sweetly on the lips and saw himself out.

* * *

It got easier over time. When the memories became a little more distant. Micky went to England and fell in love with the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. Mike brought Phyllis to Micky and Samantha’s wedding and when he wished Micky well and hugged him, it felt normal. It felt okay.

“I’m real happy for you, kid,” Mike said softly.

“Thanks, Mike. Hey … Mike?”

“Yeah, Mick?”

“We’re okay, aren’t we? We got through this?”

“We’re okay, man. I love you. But I love seeing you happy the most.”

“I love you, too, man.” _And I think I always will. But no one has to know that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's worth noting again that this is 100% fiction. I don't know much about Bob Rafelson, except that you don't become a successful Hollywood producer without being kind of a hard-ass. And Micky Dolenz noted in his autobiography that he was encouraged to fire his agent and that made it easier for the producers to get him to sign an exploitative contract.


	7. Epilogue: 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's five years later and Micky receives a surprising phone call - and request - from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... I started this fic as a little follow-up to Don't Think About It, Just Do It. And then I wrote 42,700 words in a little over 4 weeks. Whoof. I'm not sure what to do with myself now that it's finished, but I am very grateful for the hits and kudos and comments. Thank you very much for reading my story. Special thanks to AndreaEssEmm and Lauren_StDavid for faithfully commenting on every chapter -- you encouraged me to keep going.
> 
> I'm really proud of this fic, and this last chapter, especially. It could stand on its own as a fic. It's hella long, but it's got some nice schmoop and a better wrap-up than Chapter 6. The ‘70s were a rough time for our boys, though. Yikes. 
> 
> I futzed with the timeline ... Micky and Sammy didn't officially split until 1975, though I did read they separated for a time prior to that, then temporarily reconciled.
> 
> Also, I read somewhere on Tumblr that Mike and Micky did live together briefly in the aftermath of one of their divorces, but I can't find that source again and it may have just been gossip, but it stuck in my mind. If you can confirm this, please let me know!
> 
> FINALLY, if you have Spotify, I actually created a little playlist of songs that I listened to rather obsessively while writing this last chapter. You can listen to it if you want.  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6PeKCRy3iu5hnoXeVyniZ4?si=zps33RpSSq-D7Jrz0AeXUA
> 
> Only one song wasn't available to add, but "A Little Place in the Wilderness" by Memphis only appears to be available in its full studio version via Apple Music. 
> 
> Thanks again!

_“That boy was always up to no good_

_Smoking pot and playing pool in the afternoon_

_Unemployed and high_

_We’re going through the changes_

_Hoping for replacement_

_Until we find a way out of this hole.”_

— Josh Rouse, “1972”

 

_1972_

 

Micky was home when the call came in.

“Hello?”

“… hey, Mick.”

“… Mike?”

“Yeah, man. Um … how are ya? Long time no speak.”

He wasn’t wrong. They hadn’t really spoken much since Mike had quit the Monkees two years ago, leaving Micky and Davy — unwilling to buy their way out the way Peter and Mike had — to limp to the finish line as a duo to fulfill their contractual obligations. The Monkees went out with a whimper.

It wasn’t so much as a falling out between the former band members, but just … there was nothing left to say in the end. They were all just trying to get on with their lives now, with varying degrees of success. Mike had had a single, “Joanne,” chart with his new band and Micky had assumed he was doing pretty well. Assumed that everyone was somehow doing better than him, but damned if he’d admit it. There had been a trickle of one-off TV and film roles, voiceover work, a few singles that failed to land, but lately he’d been reduced to doing cheesy commercials as “Micky Dolenz of the Monkees” for a decent paycheck.

But there was something off about Mike’s tone. And the too-casual nature of this call. If Michael Nesmith called you on the telephone, he had a purpose in mind. He wasn’t one for idle chitchat.

“Oh, y’know. Good. Keeping busy. And … jeez, Mike, are you okay?” Micky decided to dispense with the painful small talk that was going to get humiliating in about a minute if Mike was really going to make Micky talk about his recent projects.

Pause. “Yeah … yeah, I’m okay.”

 _Bullshit_. It was still like getting blood from a stone when it came to getting Mike to talk about anything he was feeling inside. Micky tried another tack. “Mikey … what do you _need_?” For years he’d been the only one who could get away with this particular diminutive of Michael Nesmith’s name. Micky was never sure why he got a pass on it, but probably because he never used it in public, and Mike knew Micky only used it when he was feeling worried about or particularly tender toward him. And he knew Mike would understand that Micky wasn’t asking him what he wanted. What he _needed_ was a different thing. An important thing.

A longer pause. “I … need a place to crash. For a little while.”

Micky blinked in surprise. “Yeah? Yeah … okay. Yeah, of course, Mike. There’s plenty of room. Um, you know where I’m living now, I assume? Since you obviously got my new phone number. You … do know that Sammy and I split up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I’m real sorry I didn’t call, Micky … I …” Mike trailed off, his voice still sounding a little shaky and higher than usual.

“It’s fine,” Micky cut him off. “Mike … are you high? Drunk? Both?”

“No! No … I’m straight, man.”

“Are you sure? I don’t care if you are. But I’ll come get you and bring you here. I just don’t think you should drive if you’re really loaded. We can come back and get your car tomorrow.”

“No … naw, Mick. I’m okay to drive. I’ll … be there in a while.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, Mike. I’ll be here. See you soon.”

“’Kay, bye.” The line disconnected and Micky stood still, holding the receiver in his hand, lost in thought until the droning dial tone turned into an angry beeping and he absently placed it back into the cradle. What the hell was going on?

* * *

Micky found himself restlessly pacing the house, idly picking up clutter and putting it down again. Jesus Christ, it was just Nez. As a newly minted bachelor once again, Micky wasn’t exactly a terrific housekeeper and after a few years of manic post-Monkees spending he was trying to finally watch his money. At the moment his income was sluggish at best, so hiring help felt like a frill he could do without. Mostly he was just worried about Mike’s tone of voice and the out-of-nowhere request to come and stay with him. They hadn’t spoken in so long. And so much longer … a lifetime before that … since they’d broken off their physical relationship after that long summer tour.

_Why is he coming here? To me?_

Finally, about an hour later, Micky heard a car pull up out front. The driver’s side door opened and Mike Nesmith stepped out, his motorcycle boots crunching on the gravel. He moved around to the trunk, opened it, and hefted a single duffle bag over his shoulder and then lifted out a guitar case before closing the trunk with his elbow. He was wearing dark sunglasses, a brown leather jacket, and worn blue jeans that seemed to hang off his hips. His hair was shaggy and unkempt and he was sporting a beard again.

Micky opened the door and met him just as Mike was coming up the steps. “Hey, man,” he said by way of greeting, feeling a little awkward. “Let me grab something.” Mike nodded at him and their fingers brushed as Micky relieved him of his guitar case. Micky led Mike through the front hallway and into the sunken living room. “Just put down your stuff here for the moment.” He set down the guitar case and Mike unshouldered his duffle bag and set it next to the guitar.

The two former Monkees stood and regarded one another. Micky finally took a step forward, opening his arms and Mike moved into them, hugging him fiercely and thumping him on the back.

Micky was alarmed to feel the rail-thin shape of Mike’s body. He’d always been thin and rangy, but even through the leather jacket he felt … reduced. Mike had definitely lost weight, and he couldn’t afford to lose much.

They stepped out of the embrace and Micky looked at Mike, his face creased with concern and trying to figure out how to vocalize it when Mike slid off his sunglasses, revealing sunken, dark-circled eyes that were overly bright with exhaustion and pain. Micky realized the beard was helping to somewhat conceal Mike’s slightly hollowed cheeks.

“Mikey …” he whispered. “What’s happened?”

Mike shrugged, staring at the floor for a moment while he pocketed the sunglasses. “Life?” he said faintly. “Life happened?” He raised his head and looked at Micky. “I … told Phyllis to divorce me. I have nowhere to live. I’ve been carrying on with my friend’s wife behind his back for months. David Geffen euthanized my record label. I can’t get anyone to give a damn about my music. I have no money — I gave most of it to Phyllis and the IRS wants the rest. My mother doesn’t want to help because I’m a lousy businessman and a no-good philanderer who walked out on his wife and kids. I … I don’t know what to do … I …” He trailed off, breaking momentarily into a manic kind of despairing laughter, then pressing his lips together, breathing shakily in an attempt to control his emotions.

Micky was aghast. Most of Mike’s problems sounded eerily familiar. Problems finding steady work — let alone a modicum of professional respect — after the Monkees. Marital strife. Cashflow problems. But he had a roof over his head and, no thanks to him but to his mother, some money in the bank. So he was in the better position. He could help.

“I’m so sorry, Mikey. I really am. You can stay here as long as you need. I’m really happy to see you, man,” Micky said, realizing he truly meant it. “What else … what else you do you need right now? What can I do?”

Mike’s mouth trembled, unshed tears shining in his sorrowful eyes. “I … I need some sun, man. It’s been so dark and I’m … I’d find a less hackneyed way to say it, but I’m so fucking tired, Mick. I’m so tired.” He looked pleadingly at Micky. “I need to not think for a while. I need someone to make some decisions. Because apparently I’m makin’ all the wrong ones. I can’t … I need some sun. You dig?”

Micky felt a pricking behind his eyes — Mike’s pain was so raw. He was obviously in a bad way if he was allowing himself to be this vulnerable in front of Micky. Even at their most intimate, he had never, ever seen Mike this way. Scared and helpless and ceding control. And Micky knew what he was asking for. He lifted his hands and cradled Mike’s thin, bearded face. Mike’s eyelids fluttered and he leaned into the touch.

And then Micky kissed him and Mike made a soft, broken sound that seemed to come from deep in his chest. Micky released Mike’s face and wrapped his arms around his body, protectively, and they kissed and kissed. When it finally broke, they stared at each other, panting and glassy-eyed — once again astonished at their chemistry. The connection that remained unbroken half a decade later.

“Is that what you needed?” Micky whispered.

Mike nodded.

“You need more? Much more?”

Mike nodded again.

“You sure?”

“I _need_ it,” he whispered. “Please, Mick.”

“I’ll take care of you, Mikey. Don’t worry. Let me do the thinking for a little while.”

“Thank you.”

Micky took Mike’s hand and silently led him upstairs into the master bedroom. They stood, facing one another once more. Micky kissed Mike again and began to slowly undress him, pausing every now and then to kiss him on his mouth or shoulder or neck. Mike watched with a small smile on his lips, seeming to relax more as each garment dropped to the floor.

When Mike’s shirt came off, Micky didn’t comment on how his ribs were visible and his hipbones looked like they were fit to break through his skin. He gently backed Mike up to the bed.

“Sit down,” he instructed softly.

Mike sat. Micky knelt before him and tugged off his boots and socks, then his jeans and underwear. Even as painfully thin as he was, he still looked beautiful naked.

“Lie down on your back,” he said. Again, Mike obeyed, moving up to allow his body to fully recline on the bed. It was very strange to have this sort of role reversal, but it was easy when Micky knew what Mike needed from him. He felt Mike’s eyes on him as he undressed as well. Knowing he’d also lost weight from his slender frame, but not nearly as much as Mike had. _They should market the Divorce Diet_ , he thought ruefully. _Wanna get slim? Just sabotage your marriage until it implodes and watch the inches melt away, along with your self-esteem and will to live!_

Micky opened the bedside drawer and took out a bottle of lube, setting it down and then climbing onto the bed and moving on top of Mike, settling between his legs. He could feel Mike’s cock, which was still mostly soft, pressing against his hip. Micky gently touched Mike’s face and leaned down to kiss him deeply. He’d never kissed man with a beard before. It felt strange, but also very familiar because it was Mike. The first man Micky had ever kissed. He’d been with other men since, but Mike was … Mike. Micky loved him more than he wanted to admit.

Mike’s arms came up to wrap around Micky’s body and they kissed, tasting each other again almost as if for the first time, running their hands over naked skin. Micky felt Mike growing hard and he shifted his head to kiss and lick at his neck, sucking a purple bruise there because he could. They used to have to be careful not to mark each other up too much, Mike, especially. But now it didn’t matter. There was no one around to tell them what they could and couldn’t do. No more living in a fishbowl. Micky was pretty sure he and Mike could fuck on the front lawn and it might get buried on page twelve of the paper, at best. No one gave a shit about the Monkees anymore.

When Mike was erect and breathing fast, Micky shifted away to grab the lube and slicked up his fingers. He leaned in to kiss Mike’s neck again, as he spread him open and stroked around his hole, teasing it and slowly penetrating. Mike groaned and Micky felt muscles clench around his finger.

“You’re so tight, babe,” Micky said. “When was the last time you let someone fuck you?”

“It was with you,” Mike moaned, as Micky slid his finger in deeper. “No one since you.”

“Lucky me,” Micky whispered, strangely moved, but not terribly surprised, leaning in to kiss Mike’s mouth again as he fucked him slowly, just with the single finger for the moment. It was almost like Mike’s first time all over again.

“You … you don’t have to …” Mike argued as he broke the kiss.

“Don’t have to what?” Micky asked, still stroking and stretching, feeling Mike’s anxious muscles fluttering around his finger.

“Do that,” Mike murmured. “Get me ready. You can just do it. Just do it.”

“What are you talking about? I’ll hurt you. I’ll make you bleed.”

“I want it to hurt. I want to bleed.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what I deserve,” Mike forced out between gritted teeth. “It’s _all_ I deserve.”

Micky blinked, then narrowed his eyes, slowly sliding his finger out of Mike and focusing on him. “Stop it. You know why you just asked me to do the thinking for you for a little while? Because your thinking is all fucked up right now. Who said you could think that about yourself, huh? Did I tell you that you can think that?”

Mike shook his head. “No,” he said mournfully.

“That’s right. Now you’re going to stop thinking and you’re going let me take care of you. Because I know what you need right now. Are you going to stop this bullshit and let me give you what you need?”

Mike nodded, his lower lip trembling. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologize to yourself, not me. Say, ‘I’m sorry, Mike.’”

“… I’m sorry, Mike.”

Micky kissed Mike softly and murmured against his lips, “If I have to protect you from yourself right now, I will. You’re your own worst enemy, Nez. Always have been.”

* * *

And Micky waited until Mike was ready as possible before slowly pushing into him. Mike moaned desperately as Micky took him in slow, deep strokes, pushing his clean hand through Mike’s hair and kissing his mouth and neck and throat. Mike rocked up against Micky and whimpered. “More … fuck me, Micky.”

“I’ll fuck you,” Micky murmured, nibbling Mike’s ear. “But I won’t fuck you until you hurt. I know you wanna be treated mean, but that’s not what you need right now. You’ve been plenty mean to yourself already. I can see that.”

“But —”

“Just gonna —” Micky snapped his hips forward deep and Mike cried out in pleasure “—fuck you until you stop thinking. And you can’t come until then.”

Mike nodded and whimpered into another kiss as Micky’s slender hips expertly rolled, thrusting his slick cock in and out of Mike in a slow, maddening rhythm. The rhythm built and Mike’s erection burned against Micky’s hip and when Micky decided he was ready, he urged Mike to wrap his legs up around Micky’s waist and he slid in as deep as possible, hitting Mike’s sweet spot.

Mike keened and groaned, back arching. “Micky … please … oh, god, fuck me …”

“You’re still capable of speech,” Micky purred. “Gotta fix that. And he hitched up one of Mike’s legs and drove deeply into him again and again.

And Mike let go. Micky felt it. He gave himself over to sheer physical pleasure, moaning, his eyes fluttering shut and his head tipped back as Micky reached down to fist Mike’s cock.

“Anything to say for yourself?”

Mike just let out a whimpering moan, thrusting mindlessly into Micky’s hand.

“Good. You need to come. You need it so bad, don’t you?” Micky stroked in time with his thrusts. “You can come, Mike. When you’re ready.”

Mike’s back arched again and a shuddering cry burst from his throat as he came, bucking up under Micky, his muscles clenching around him. Micky buried his face in Mike’s neck, breathing in his scent and fucked him through his orgasm, finally resulting in his own, shooting hard into Mike, letting out a deep, satisfied groan as his hips finally slowed and stilled. For a few moments there was silence, save for their labored breathing. Micky carefully pulled out, rolling onto his back, wiping sweat from his forehead.

They lay side by side, panting, overwhelmed.

“Micky,” Mike whimpered suddenly, his voice breaking. “Oh fuck, Micky … oh god … I’ve fucked everything up …” And Mike let out an agonized sound, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears. Micky turned back onto his side and quickly reached for him. Ugly, grief-stricken sobs wracked his body as Mike, defences decimated, finally allowed himself to fall completely apart. Micky held him close, rubbing his back as Mike sobbed into his chest. “It’s okay, Mikey, let it all out,” he said. “It’s poison — it has to go. You’re safe here. You’re safe, baby.”

Later, Micky would tell Mike about how, in the early days after Samantha split with Ami, Harry Nilsson — worried after having a troubling phone conversation with Micky — came to his house to check on him and found Micky sitting in the middle of the road, halfway through a bottle of Scotch and hoping to get hit by a car. Harry had dragged him out of the road and off to a friend’s house to sleep it off. Micky had needed someone to remind him that he had to feel those feelings eventually and couldn’t just drink them away or hope to have his skull turned into mush by a passing Chevy.

The storm was fierce but fairly brief and before long Mike’s sobs subsided into weeping, then into snuffling whimpers, then just heavy, congested breaths. Micky brushed a kiss over his forehead and leaned over to the bedside table to grab the box of tissues. He nudged Mike up into a sitting position. “Come on. Have a blow. Not as fun as having ‘some’ blow, but you’ll feel better. And it’s a helluva lot cheaper.”

Mike managed a thick chuckle, then grabbed several tissues from the box and turned away to wipe his eyes and blow his nose, and then took a few more to wipe the semen off his stomach. He chucked the used tissues in the general direction of the wastebasket and blearily looked at Micky for further instructions.

“Lie down; close your eyes. I’ll stay with you.”

Mike nodded and lay down again, letting Micky pull him back into his arms, nestling into the crook of his neck. Micky stroked Mike’s hair, hummed a tune, and Mike fell fast asleep before he could even reach the chorus. Micky gently tugged the covers up over Mike’s shoulders.

* * *

Mike slept for the next fourteen hours. Since it was only seven o’clock in the evening, Micky carefully extricated himself and slipped away once he was sure Mike was out for good. He checked on Mike sporadically and noticed he hadn’t moved from his last spot.

Then Micky decided to double-check he was still breathing. Whew. He went into the bathroom and laid out some towels for Mike. Looking in a drawer, he found a brand-new toothbrush. Several, actually. Micky had been so useless before their separation that Sammy had packed most of his things for him. And these were among them. Samantha was always good about stocking up on things like this for the many random guests and vagabonds Micky brought into the house (usually with little to no notice) and the reminder of this simple kindness and care his estranged wife used to display made his heart hurt again. But he put it out for Mike just in case. He wondered idly why this thought occurred to him now and not ever so many times before. How maybe he’d just put Sammy into the position of having to mother him, and avoided growing up the rest of the way. But that was too much to think about and he shook that off.

After watching Johnny Carson and smoking a joint, Micky carried Mike’s duffle bag upstairs into the bedroom, took off his clothes, and slipped back into bed. Mike was still sleeping peacefully.

Around 2:30 a.m. Micky briefly awoke to a long arm wrapping loosely around his waist and hot breath in between his shoulder blades. He smiled and settled back to sleep quickly.

Micky next woke to loud snoring around eight o’clock and saw that Mike had flopped onto his back and was sawing logs with one arm flung over his eyes. Micky chuckled and decided he’d had enough sleep and to just let Mike wake up when he was ready. He got up, showered, dressed, made coffee, and went into his workshop to tinker with his latest project.

Around nine-thirty Micky had just turned off the bandsaw when he heard a throat-clearing sound. He looked up and saw Mike standing sheepishly at the top of the short flight of stairs that separated the workshop from the main house. His hair was damp from the shower and he was dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans, his hands shoved deep in the pockets.

Micky smiled. “Sleeping Beauty awakes at last! How was that?”

Mike nodded. “Good. Real good. How long was I out for?”

Micky checked his watch. “Just about fourteen hours and change, it looks like. You weren’t kidding about being tired.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep much lately. Until last night. … thanks for that.”

 _A good orgasm and a good cry are often better than any sleeping pill_ , Micky thought, but he just shrugged and smiled. “Glad I could help.”

“What’re you workin’ on?”

Micky regarded the piles of wooden pieces and lumber all around him. “A new dollhouse for Ami. Well, more like a doll mansion. Maybe a doll compound. I keep changing up the plans.”

Mike smiled. “Cool … can I help?” He moved down onto the first step in bare feet and Micky made a “time-out” sign with his hands and yelled, “No, no, noooooooo. Stop right there.”

“Huh?”

“First, no shoes, no service. You can’t be walking around in bare feet in here, are you outta your mind? Second, you’ve been unconscious for fourteen hours and you arrived here looking like you haven’t eaten in a month. No way in hell I’m letting you near power tools until you’ve taken some nourishment.” Micky hustled across the floor and herded Mike back into the house. “Come on, come on …”

Mike chuckled. “Is this you in Dad mode?”

“You bet it is. Now get your scrawny ass in the kitchen.”

“What’s for eats?”

“What I make for you. Remember, I’m still making the decisions. I know what you need. I also know what you like. All of those years of Monkee chow together.”

They entered the kitchen and Micky pulled out a chair. “Sit.”

Mike sat.

Micky poured a tall glass of orange juice and set it in front of Mike. “Drink.”

“You got a little vodka for this?”

“Not at nine-thirty in the morning, pal. I’ve already moved past my ‘drunk all day’ phase of marriage implosion. We can definitely have some real drinks and smoke some grass, but later. Also, remember that you wanted to play with power tools?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“‘Oh yeah,’” Micky mimed dumbly. “Well, believe me, I learned my lesson when I almost lost a finger once when I started messing around with the tools when I was loaded. You can’t afford to lose the use of any more fingers, man. And stop thinking. You’re still not quite human yet. After food you can try some small thoughts on for size.”

“Okay.”

Micky turned on the radio and bustled about the kitchen as Mike quietly sipped his juice and listened to the music, watching Micky cook. He’d forgotten that Micky was no slouch in the kitchen and felt his stomach rumble as the savory smells began to fill the room.

A little while later, Micky set down a generous plate of bacon, eggs, toast, and fresh fruit in front of Mike. “Eat.”

Mike picked up his fork and tucked in. He finished his entire plate and part of Micky’s, who nudged it over when he saw Mike eying it.

Finally, Mike sat back with a contented sigh, hands cradling his stomach. “That was outta sight, Micky. Thanks.”

Micky smiled a little. “Feel a bit better?”

“Yeah. I mean, my life is still in the toilet, but I’m feeling less like cryin’ about it so much. I’m … sorry about that. Last night.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Micky. “You clearly had been bottling that up deep down somewhere for a long time. I just shook it loose. Kind of like the way you did with me the first time we … did it. I don’t know what you shook loose, exactly, but it was something in there.”

Mike glanced up at him a little shyly, smiling. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“So … you wanna go build a doll gulag?”

“Hell yeah. Show me the plans.”

“For the doll commune? Sure thing.”

“Have you considered a doll ranch?”

“Oooh, nice idea. We can add that to the spa and amusement park wing. Go put some shoes on.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the day creating a lot of sawdust and having friendly arguments about the construction of the dollhouse. Micky had always loved working with his hands and Mike was happy for the distraction of a straightforward, tangible, achievable goal, and Micky’s boisterous company. He hadn’t let himself think about how much he’d missed his old friend and partner in crime … former lover.

In the evening, when the sun began to set, they moved to the back deck where they cracked open a couple of beers. Micky made a salad and grilled some steaks and Mike had his second really solid meal in some time. They didn’t talk about much — just being together felt like enough. Later, Micky lit a joint and they passed it back and forth for a while. Then Micky reached for Mike’s hand and suggested they go upstairs. Mike smiled and nodded and let Micky take him to bed. They fell easily back into one another, remembering what the other liked and showing off a few new moves picked up over the ensuing years. After they were sated, they fell asleep curled up together like they used to back in the Monkee days.

* * *

Mike stayed for a month. He was there to help finish the lavish dollhouse and to help Micky sand, paint, and varnish it in time for Ami’s visit. Ami, naturally, was delighted by both the dollhouse and the presence of her “uncle” Mike (who moved into the guest bedroom for the duration of her stay). Mike doted on the little girl and looked after her when Micky went to take meetings and generally continue his hustle for work. He enjoyed it, but it also made him miss his own children more than ever.

Micky continued feeding him three times day. Mike gained a few pounds and his clothes started fitting him properly again. (“That ass is a national treasure — I had to save it!” Micky joked, giving Mike’s rump a hearty slap.) They bickered like an old married couple, they played guitar and sang together, they built contraptions in the workshop, they did yard work, they read the newspaper in the morning and watched TV at night, and they had a lot of great sex.

It was beyond great sex most of the time. Sometimes the only word Mike had for it was lovemaking, which was a beautiful thing, but also very confusing. Sometimes they were playful and/or aggressive and horny like they often were during those heated nights of the tour. Hopped on adrenaline and often some booze and drugs. Tackling each other in the hotel room and finding their release together. Drawing Peter into some kinky power games that still made Mike blush when he remembered.

But now, in bed with Micky, often it was slower, sweeter. They were a little bit older, but not that much. It just all seemed much different now as they were allowed to spend time together outside of the Monkees pressure cooker. And one night, Mike sat up against the headboard, holding Micky gently as he slowly rocked in Mike's lap, riding him, working his cock in and out and hitting all the spots just the way he liked. The room was dark except for a patch of moonlight illuminating the foot of the bed, and Micky quietly whimpered with pleasure, his arms loosely wrapped around Mike's shoulders as Mike kissed his mouth and neck and collarbone and nipples and ran his hands through Micky's wild hair and over the smooth expanse of his naked back and over his sweet little ass. Unable to stop touching him. And he felt a swell of feeling in his heart that nearly overwhelmed him. How much he loved Micky. How he might be in love with Micky. How he’d probably been in love with Micky for the past five years.

But the thought was dismissed nearly as swiftly as it arrived. He couldn't be in love with Micky. Well, he could — he'd long since gotten over his self-hatred and guilt in enjoying sex with a man … with Micky. It was just something that was a part of him and it was special and it was theirs. He hadn't asked Micky if he'd had sex with other men since they'd ended their physical relationship. He didn't want to know. It didn't matter. Especially because Micky could never be his. Because Mike wouldn't allow him to be. So far he'd only seen his love for Phyllis turn destructive and ugly. His love for Kathryn bringing pain and emotional ruin not only to his soon-to-be ex-wife, but one of his best friends. It would more than likely drive Kathryn away eventually, too. It was a foregone conclusion. Mike’s love was toxic and he wouldn’t destroy Micky that way. He wanted Micky in his life for a long time, and the only way to give that outcome a fighting chance was to let him find someone else who could love him better than Mike ever could.

Because even in a perfect world where he and Micky could live together freely as a couple without fear of scandal or reprisal or danger to themselves and their respective children ... Mike would still ruin Micky in the end. Until he figured out what was so rotten inside of him that he had to sabotage everything good and pure in his life.

He could love Micky. He could even be in love with Micky, but he had to protect Micky from that love. As Micky’s movements became more urgent and his whimpers became soft cries of need, Mike rolled his hips up to hit him even deeper inside — to hear Micky sing the way he only sang when he was being fucked so good and so deep. He nuzzled into Micky's neck and whispered, "I love you" against his skin as he reached for Micky's hard cock and rocked and stroked him until Micky cried out in ecstasy and shook apart his arms, riding Mike hard and fast even as his muscles clenched at him in a way that nearly always brought Mike off as well, and this time was no exception.

Micky collapsed against him, gasping his name again and again. "Mike ... oh, Mike ... oh ..." And Mike reveled in that. In feeling Micky's muscles still rippling around him in the aftershocks of his climax. Holding him tenderly and pressing kisses to his face and neck. Knowing that all they had to do was go to sleep together and in the morning they'd still be together and there was nowhere to be. No photo calls, no TV shoots, no press interviews, no shows, no hustles to an airport. Just the two of them together. Mike wasn't one to get nostalgic for the present, but something told him that he would cherish this short period of his life and he didn't want to miss a moment of it. Because it would be over far too soon. Because it had to be.

But in the meantime, things were good. They were simple. Mike slept better and drank less. It was the happiest they had both felt in a long time. But once again, they’d retreated into their own private world that consisted of just the two of them. And real life made demands. Real life wouldn’t let them continue playing house this way. In real life, Micky needed to be working harder at … working. Earning a real living so he didn’t blow through the rest of his Monkee money trying to maintain his lifestyle and make his support payments. Mike needed to quit hiding, face his financial problems, sort out his family failings, and figure out what his next steps were supposed to be in his life and career so he could start earning properly again as well.

He knew he wanted to take those steps with Kathryn. A beautiful, capable woman who was somewhat patiently waiting for Mike to finish having his crisis so they could be together, free of their former spouses.

Sometimes Mike made phone calls and Micky tried to give him privacy to do so, but sometimes the calls turned into yelling and Micky could hear it no matter where he was in the house. Mike arguing with Phyllis about the children. Mike getting frustrated during business calls. Mike getting upset with his girlfriend pressuring him to leave the safe harbor of Micky’s house and come and start the life together he’d promised her. Inevitably, whenever Mike used the phone, he was in a terrible mood afterward and Micky gave him a wide berth, usually heading out to the workshop while Mike fumed and sulked and tried not to kick things because he was a guest and he’d been raised better than that.

Mike’s girlfriend. There was always someone, wasn’t there? Mike hadn’t been single for a single second of the time Micky had known him. They didn’t talk about her. Or about how Mike refused to let her come and visit him at Micky’s house. They didn’t talk about a lot of things.

* * *

Once, and only once, Micky brought up the idea of performing together again.

They’d fallen into the habit of watching the sunset on the back deck while drinking a beer in the early evenings. Micky picked at the label on the bottle, creating a tiny pile of paper scraps on his leg.

Mike looked sidelong at him. “Whatcha fidgetin’ for, fidgety? Are you nervous or somethin’?”

Micky looked him, then looked down and chuckled softly, brushing the paper bits away into the breeze. “I was thinking about something.”

Mike’s mouth quirked on one side. “Oh, yeah? That sounds dangerous. What’s your scheme this time?”

“I was thinking … we could perform together. Again. Could be just you and me, or we could get the other guys together …”

“Micky …”

“Don’t say no right away — it could be great! It could be whatever we want it to be this time. It’s been real boss jamming with you again since you got here.”

“Micky …”

“I know the audience is out there. We’re having trouble capturing them separately, but if we get together … there’s money to be made, Mike, I just —”

“Micky!” Mike cut him off sharply. “Jesus Christ.”

“What’s so bad about it, huh? We haven’t talked about it at all.”

“Talked about what?”

“Money. Our careers.”

“Never talk money with friends. We’re friends now, Micky. Just friends — not co-workers. Not even bandmates. When we were that we could talk about money and contracts and all that bull. But now … it’s crass. I didn’t even mean to bring it up when I first got here, but as you know, I was at my lowest ebb. I don’t expect you to fix this for me. I gotta dig myself out.”

“Remember when I said you’re your own worst enemy? You’re doing it again.”

“I am not!” Mike retorted. “I’m thinking bigger picture here, Mick. And so should you. Yeah, I could grab for the low-hanging fruit and make a quick buck doing anything Monkees-related. That’s what they all want, right? That’s what they reminded me of every fucking night when I was playing with First National. Well, I ain’t givin’ into that. I don’t do tricks anymore. If that makes me stubborn and bullheaded, well, so be it. But I got so much more in me, Mick. If I backslide into the Monkees nostalgia act _now_? I’ll never make another record. I’ll never have anything I can call my own. I know it. And I can’t let that happen. I can’t be washed up at twenty-nine because of a single role on a single TV show. I refuse to accept that. There’s gotta be something else out there for me, y’know?”

Micky nodded and exhaled through his nose. “I get it. You and your damned artistic integrity.” He chuckled softly. “I’m like Davy. I’m an entertainer. I’m no artist.”

“Well, that ain’t true, Micky, I —”

“No, no, it is true,” Micky interrupted. “And that’s okay. It’s not a dirty word. I’m Hollywood, man. I’ve always been Hollywood. I mean … it meant a lot the way you really encouraged me to write my own songs and I never thought I would do that, ever. But you made me believe I could, and you were right. I never really thanked you for that and I always meant to.” He smiled at Mike, who actually blushed a little bit. “But I’m not like you. I’m not prolific like that.” Micky briefly dropped into his terrible German accent. “ _Especially without Herr Nesmith cracking zeh whip!_ I never will be, either. I just want to perform. And I wish people would let me.”

“It’s been that bad, huh?”

Micky drained the rest of his beer and looked at Mike. “I wasn’t gonna tell you, but it’ll be on TV so you’ll probably see it anyway. I did a commercial.”

Mike shrugged. “Hey, that’s cool, man.”

Micky let out a bark of laughter. “Oh no, man. It is most definitely not. It’s … a compilation album for number-one hits of the sixties.”

“Oh, Micky …”

“And I put on costumes and do schtick while I read out the song titles on voiceover.”

“Oh, Micky!”

“Fucking Clarksville is on it! And they made me read it out!”

 _“Micky!”_ Mike howled with horrified laughter, doubling over. “Oh, you cheap _hack_!”

Micky snorted, amused. “Hey, I’m a moderately expensive hack, all right? What did you used to call me? A pretty little slut? I’m a big ol’ whore now, baby. But at least a whore gets paid.”

Mike wiped a mirthful tear away, and turned to look at Micky. “Naw. You’re still real pretty. Even if you are a slut. I’ve always rather liked you that way.” He brushed his fingers over Micky’s wrist. “C’mere.”

Micky stood up and walked over to stand in front of Mike, who tugged him down to straddle his lap. “Baby, you do what you gotta do. We’re struggling right now. You can bet your cute little ass that Davy and Peter are, too, whatever they’re up to. We’d hear about it otherwise. But you got the comedic chops to carry shit like that off and make it look great. I sure don’t. I’d fall flat on my face.”

Mike caught hold of the front of Micky’s shirt and hauled him down for a long kiss. He felt the shape of Micky’s cock through his pants and began to rub him slowly. Micky groaned softly. “Remember what happened the last time we messed around outside the safety of a bedroom?”

“Seems pretty private to me,” Mike murmured against Micky’s mouth, then bit his lower lip. “Unless Big Brother Rafelson has spies planted in the trees.”

Micky moaned. “Aw, fuck it — it’s not like anyone gives a shit anyway.” He wrapped his arms around Mike and gave into the kiss, rocking his hips eagerly into Mike’s hand.

“ _Such_ a slut,” Mike teased.

“For you, baby. Always for you.”

* * *

But the discussion must have triggered something because the next night, Mike wanted to talk. They were in bed and trying to fall asleep. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains and a patch of moonlight lit up part of the room. Micky was on his side, facing away from Mike, relaxed and starting to drift off, when Mike spoke.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking since I got here. A whole lot. Since we talked last night, too. About how I ended up where I am. How I am.”

“Oh, yeah?” Micky said sleepily, making to turn over to face Mike, but Mike curled a hand around his hip and held him in place, indicating that he wanted Micky to stay as he was. Unable to see his face, like a penitent with a father confessor.

Micky gently patted Mike’s hand to indicate that it was okay and he could continue.

“I … got this thing inside me. This thing … I can’t seem to leave well enough alone. I can't accept anything really good in my life. When I don’t have it, I want it and I fight for it. But when I get it … I wreck it. I did it with Phyllis — twice. When she found out about Nurit and Jason, and took the kids back to Texas — I shoulda just let her go. I shoulda left her alone, given her a divorce and a shit-ton of money, and made an arrangement for seeing the kids. But I fought for her. I needed to win her back. I loved her and I missed her, but I think I mostly did it to prove to myself that I wasn’t a worthless piece of shit. That I could be this person who I clearly wasn’t meant to be. So I got her back. Got her pregnant again, then cheated on her again. I mean, if I hadn’t won her back we wouldn’t have Jessica and that’s unthinkable. But I was a worthless piece of shit to my wife. I fucked it up. I … fucked it up with you, too.”

“With me?” Micky asked softly. “What do you mean?” He was also astonished to hear Mike speak so freely and honestly. He wasn’t sure what had brought this on.

“I shoulda let you go, too … that last night on tour when you wanted to end it. I didn’t listen to you. I streamrolled right over you and used all my tricks to string you along a little longer … until I fucked it up. I knew that screwing around with you on set was a one-way ticket to getting caught and held to account, but I did it anyway. Because I couldn’t let you go, and I couldn’t let you let _me_ go, so I made something happen to force my hand.”

“Mike, you didn't know that was going to happen.”

“I had a pretty good idea. I could have taken you to my dressing room and we could have had a quickie in there and no one would have been the wiser. Not like all us haven't ‘entertained’ company in our dressing rooms before. But instead I talked you into doing something risky and stupid. I barely even gave you a choice. I wasn’t … thinking straight. I just took what I wanted. And then I made you sit there and take vile abuse from fucking Bob Rafelson. Made you risk your professional reputation. And then I made you feel like shit for crying about it and not arguing with him. Not defending yourself. When I didn’t say a word to defend you. When I was the asshole who put you in that position in the first place. All I cared about was being humiliated. My own damn fragile ego. Over something that was all my fault. And, on top of that, I had the gall to ask you if you wanted to screw one last time. After all that. And I’m sorry, Mick. I’m really sorry. You’re one of the best people I know, and I threw you to the wolves when you needed me to stand with you.”

Micky felt dampness between his shoulder blades and realized Mike was silently crying.

“Mikey …” he said softly, and tried to turn again, but Mike held him still, his fingers digging into Micky's hip.

“No, Mick. No … you don’t get to comfort me about this. Not this time. I don’t deserve comfort. And it's not like when I first got here and wanted you to hurt me as some kind of sick punishment. I already hurt myself, and I hurt you, and I need to own up to that.”

“Okay,” said Micky softly. “Okay, Mike.”

“I realized ... I needed to tell you that.”

“That’s groovy of you to say, Mike. I was a little fucked up over that for a while, to be honest. It all happened so fast, but when I thought about it seemed like you hung me out to dry. I had no one looking out for me. I just had to roll over and take it. It hurt.”

“I know,” Mike murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of Micky’s neck. “And after you tried your best to take care of me … and I ruined it. Because that's what I do. I ruined The Monkees. I ruined my first big solo shot. I ruined my marriage. Twice. I ruined my business. I’d made it — come out to California with nothin’ except a guitar, my girl, and a dream. Got rich and famous and too big for my britches. And I felt like a fraud. So I started messing around with it. Pokin’ holes in it. Because I didn’t think I deserved to have it. I blew it all up. Now I’m back to nothin’ except now it’s less than nothin’. I left Texas a nobody failure. Now I’m a famous failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Mike. And even if that were true, I don’t think being a famous failure is worse than being a nobody failure,” said Micky. “At least everyone knows your name now. And you still have a guitar. And a girl. And me. And you’ll find the next dream.”

Mike snuffled and chuckled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah, my name is Mud. But you’re right … I do have you. I don't know what possessed you to take me in, Mick, after all that's happened. But I'm sure grateful.”

“I took you in because I love you, idiot. Even though I've never met anyone so hellbent on doing things the hardest possible way. If we were lost and starving in the wilderness and found a bridge over a ravine and on the other side of the bridge was a luxury hotel with a free buffet, open bar, and naked girls, you’d jump off the cliff, swim across the raging river full of snakes, and scale the other side instead. Just to make a point. But, c'mon, man … are you taking responsibility for the end of The Monkees? That’s a little arrogant, even for you.”

“You and Davy just wanted to stick to the status quo. Learn the scripts. Sing the songs they gave us. Keep our mouths shut. Sell millions of units. Make money hand over fist. But I couldn’t accept that.”

“Neither could Peter. They cast two musicians and that’s exactly what they got. Like I said … you two both turned me into an actual musician and a songwriter. And then we all fucked it up together. It was a solid group effort, asshole. We dosed it with acid, set it on fire, and sent it down the psychedelic river. The last truly groovy thing we did as a foursome.” Micky chuckled. “Jesus … even in our collective failure you want special credit.”

Mike laughed roughly.

“You remember what I called you … that night on tour when you came to my room to get me to stop being mad at you? The second time we fooled around?”

“You’ve called me a lot of things, Mick. You just called me an idiot and an asshole in the past minute alone.”

“Har har. Do you remember, though? When you said you were all wound up all the time?”

“Yeah … you said I was like a salmon swimming upstream.”

“A very angry salmon,” Micky amended.

“Well, you sure had my number.”

“Mike … maybe you just haven’t found the right stream yet. And when you do, you won't have to fight so hard to get to where you wanna go. You need to keep looking. And it’s not the stream I’m supposed to be swimming in. I get that now.”

Micky felt Mike’s hand on his hip again, only this time he was finally urging Micky to turn over. Micky complied and looked at Mike, whose face was lightly illuminated by the moonlight, tear tracks shining on his cheeks.

“Mick … you're so fucking funny and charismatic that people don’t give you credit for how smart you are. That’s the smartest thing anyone's said to me. Possibly ever.”

“Well, I do try, I —” Micky said, taking on his posh English voice before Mike cradled his face in his hands and kissed him gently.

“Don’t riff right now. Just hear me. You're smart as hell. You're not just the funny, cute guy. You’re everything. You really are everything. And you can _do_ anything you put your mind to. Okay?”

Micky blinked, taken aback, and then closed his eyes, momentarily speechless as Mike pulled him into his arms.

“I dunno how to take care of anyone, Mick. My mother took care of me and then Phyllis did. And now you are. And then Kathryn will.” Mike stroked Micky’s curly hair and then rubbed slow circles on his back. “I’m a useless, selfish man when it comes to that. When I finally got some money I used it to show care for people because I didn’t know how else to do it. But now I ain’t got none, so I’m fresh out of ideas. But maybe I can find a way to take care of you a little bit.”

Micky hid his face in the crook of Mike's neck. “Don’t you start … don't make me cry now, jackass.”

“Okay, tough guy.”

“I get called a lot of things, but 'smart' usually isn't one of them. Probably because I haven't been acting too smart for the past few years.”

“You and me both, kid. Maybe we both need to find the right stream. I'm going to remember that.”

Micky leaned back and looked at Mike, reaching up to wipe away a few lingering tears with the pad of his thumb. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Just … had a few things to get off my chest.”

“So, I can expect this about once every five to ten years, then?”

Mike chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You are taking care of me, you know.”

“I am? I feel like you’ve been the one building me back up after I nearly collapsed on your doorstep with about an hour’s notice. Eating you out of house and home. Just … a freeloader.”

“Stop. You aren’t a freeloader. You’re here. You’ve helped me … just be a person. Don’t you think we both forgot how to do that during the Monkeemania? How to be a regular person? I know you have to leave soon, but you’re here now. You’ve been here for nearly a month. And it’s been really good for me. I’ve been … lonely.”

“You … Mr. Life of the Party?”

“You know what they say about feeling alone in a crowd. No one really gets what I’m dealing with right now except for you. Also because I don’t really talk about it with anyone. You know … putting on my L.A. face.” Micky broke into his trademark manic smile. “Everything’s great, guys! Lots of interest. Lots of irons in the fire. Being a bachelor again is great! I’m having the time of my life! Let me tell you about this dynamite chick I’m screwing. Who wants another drink?”

Mike gently touched Micky’s face and stroked his cheek with his thumb until Micky let the forced smile drop, his facial muscles relaxing into a more vulnerable expression.

“There he is. There’s my Mick.”

“What’s left of him, anyway,” Micky said half-jokingly.

“You’re gonna be fine, kid. I have no doubts about that. Even when I’m gone. Especially when I’m gone, and you get back to the business of finding your stream.”

“You’re just taking this metaphor and really running with it, aren’t you?”

“Until the wheels fall off, baby.”

“You mean fins.”

“Oh my lord, Micky.”

Micky grinned. “You know I can only take so much serious talk before I have to make a joke. It’s detrimental to my health if I don’t. And you mixed metaphors and that’s a big no-no. You remember improv class a thousand years ago. Commit to the bit, man.”

Mike snorted and rolled to the side, pressing Micky back into the pillows and kissing his neck. “I got a bit to commit right now …”

Micky laughed. “Oh, I just bet you do!” The laugh melted away as Mike kissed him and they didn’t feel the need to talk anymore.

* * *

That night they seemed to reach a kind of conclusion. And Mike finally conceded that he should leave by the end of the week. They made the best of those last days together: going for drives down the coast in Micky’s convertible, eating great food, and having more great sex. And Micky told himself that it wouldn’t be as hard this time. That he’d always expected it to end and at least he didn’t have to go work with Mike every day afterward.

_But … when will I see him again?_

* * *

They stood in the hallway, facing one another, similar to when Mike had first arrived. Mike bit his lip and his eyes flicked away the way they did when he was about to say something emotional. “I … don’t know how to thank you, Mick. I was … I was probably gonna do something real stupid if you hadn’t answered the phone and agreed to let me come stay. I know it sounds melodramatic, but I think you may have saved my life.”

Micky opened his mouth to make a joke retort, but Mike’s solemn statement was too upsetting. “You can always call me, Mike. Always. And if I don’t pick up, then hold off doing anything stupid and keep calling me. Call the people I know. I know _everyone_ in this goddamned town. Even if they don’t want to know me right now. They’ll find me. Always call me if you’re in trouble, okay? Even if you’re not in trouble … fucking call me. I miss you.”

Mike nodded and smiled, blushing. And then they hugged tightly.

“I love you, man,” Mike mumbled against Micky’s cheek. “I really do.”

“I love you, too,” Micky replied, his voice cracking a little. “You’re gonna be okay, you know that, right?”

Mike pulled back to look at Micky and nodded. “Yeah. And so are you. We’ll find our way through this. There’s gotta be something on the other side of this rough patch, right?”

“Pot of gold, I hope!” Micky smiled wanly. “All right … off you go. Go get your girl. Call or write when you get settled somewhere, okay? I want to know I can find you.”

“Will do. Thanks again, Mick. I had a … I liked being here.”

“I liked having you here,” said Micky, feeling tears pricking his eyes. “Now … go! Before I get all mushy. It’s not a pretty sight.” He opened the door as Mike picked up his luggage and kissed Micky on his way out the door and out of Micky’s life again.

It would be a very long time until they saw each other again. But it wouldn’t be the last time. And there were plenty of times to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is fiction, but I need to note that I was reading Michael Nesmith's beautifully written memoir, Infinite Tuesdays, and he recalled, in painful detail, the complete collapse of his personal and professional life around 1972. Some of those details are true, but it's obviously been dramatized and this entire thing is 100% fiction. I earn nothing from this except joy. 
> 
> The Harry Nilsson anecdote is lifted from Micky's autobiography, I’m a Believer. 
> 
> The commercial Micky refers to is real. It's on YouTube. Look it up.


End file.
